


Eight Days a Week (MidoTaka Week Ficlets)

by Jmetropolis



Series: You're the One [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Absent Parents, Adopted Children, Awkward Blow Jobs, Awkward Boners, Awkward Crush, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Babysitting, Bad Decisions, Bad Jokes, Bad wedding gifts, Bar Room Brawl, Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Boyfriends, Brother-Sister Relationships, Car Accidents, Cars, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Children, Classical Music, Controlling mother, Crushes, Dancing, Dating, Developing Relationship, Doctors & Physicians, Dogs, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Engagement, Established Relationship, Fever, Fire, Fist Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Fundraisers, Future Fic, Hanging Out, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, High School, Hospitals, Humor, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Kid Fic, Kissing, Language of Flowers, Laundry, Little Sisters, Lunch, M/M, Maids, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Married Life, Medical School, MidoTaka Week, Morning Wood, Mother-Son Relationship, Moving, Moving In Together, Nannies, Neck Kissing, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Parent-Child Relationship, Party Games, Piano, Post-Wedding, Public Transportation, Same-Sex Marriage, Secret Crush, Sexual Humor, Sickfic, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Studying, Tea, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Teen Crush, Toddlers, Trains, Tsundere Midorima, Valeting, Veterinary Medicine, bad music, newlyweds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 42,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmetropolis/pseuds/Jmetropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets written for MidoTaka Week. Each chapter is a separate prompt. Takes place in the You're the One 'verse.</p>
<p>Day 1: Midorima feels under the weather. Takao comes to his rescue.</p>
<p>Day 2: Shūtoku's shadow and light study for a quiz.  Midorima gets some sagely feline advice.</p>
<p>Day 3: Takao and Kise go clubbing. Midorima gets dragged unwillingly into babysitting duty.</p>
<p>Day 4: Takao takes a stroll down memory lane and ends up knocking over the silverware.</p>
<p>Day 5: Midorima and Takao trade places. Shin-chan proceeds to have the worst day ever.</p>
<p>Day 6: Takao has senioritis. Shin-chan has other plans.</p>
<p>Day 7: Shin-chan gets jealous. Takao thinks it's adorable.</p>
<p>Day 8: Takao gets some unexpected, late night cardio. </p>
<p>Day 9: Shutoku's seniors are very protective of their ace.</p>
<p>Day 10: If you asked Midorima, Kuroko was to blame.</p>
<p>Day 11: Takao isn’t as slick as he thinks he is; then again Midorima isn’t so astute either.</p>
<p>[If read in chronological order: Day 11, Day 8, Day 2, Day 9.1, Day 9.2, Day 1, Day 6, Day 3, Day 9.3, Day 4, Day 7, Day 5, Day 10]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lucky Item

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midorima is feeling under the weather. Takao comes to his rescue.

**Day 1 Prompt: Luck**

As luck would have it, Midorima Shintarō was on his deathbed on the first day of the final year of his high school career. Or at the very least he was deathly ill and would be kicking the bucket any minute now unless that idiot (whom he'd entrusted with a very important task) got here in time with the only thing that could save his rapidly flitting life. _No_ , it wasn't medicine. He had plenty of that. His father was a doctor, a damn good one at that. And even more fortuitous, he happened to have been home this morning when Midorima opened his pretty emerald green eyes and discovered his malady. 

The object Midorima Shintarō was _so_ desperately in need of it had become a life and death situation was today's lucky item. He had urgently texted Takao to fetch it for him the minute it became obvious he would be too sick to attend his classes today, let alone traipse about the city in search of whatever article Oha Asa deemed imbibed with mystical powers for those who happened to have been born between June 21st and July 22nd, all before first period.

The way he was feeling, he'd be lucky to get out of bed for anything other than to answer nature's call and maybe tape up his fingers. There were plenty of rolls of sports tape in his gym bag beside the bed. In fact, if he stretched his considerable arm-span he could easily reach it. Yet his left hand remained bare at the moment. It wasn't as if he were waiting for Takao to come bandage it up for him or anything.   

The younger Midorima's nightstand was cluttered with plastic pill bottles and glass vials of viscous, dark liquids which for now Midorima Shintarō was ignoring. He was holding out hope for the only sure thing that would save him. Of course, doing everything humanly possible also meant he'd eventually have to take the medicine his father had dutifully left him this morning before departing to catch a flight to heaven knew where for his conference.

When he was younger, Midorima would push pins into a globe, marking all the exotic cities his father was gallivanting off to. And while he still had that globe, decorated with clusters of colorful plastic pinheads and perched atop the wooden desk against the back wall of his bedroom where he did his school work at night, he long ago stopped inserting pins into it. He didn't particularly care for the visual reminder that while Dr. Midorima Shinzo was well traveled, he was not particularly inclined to bring his family along with him on his more and more frequent sojourns abroad.   

Midorima allowed himself to fall back asleep, for the time being. After all, he was still in his pajamas (a flannel nightcap resting atop silky verdant strands) and still in his comfortable bed. It was early, which meant Oha Asa hadn't aired yet, which in turn meant that Cancer's lucky item of the day had yet to be revealed. Midorima's favorite program was not going to be on for another half hour, ergo that idiot was not going to get here anytime soon. 

In the meantime, Midorima would take a nap. His throat felt liked he'd ingested glass shards for dinner and his head felt like he'd stuffed it into a hot oven. He could feel the intimations of a wicked headache coming on from dull ache behind his eyeballs and the pressure in his sinuses could transform carbon into diamonds. To compound his list of ailments, he'd been relegated to only one working nostril. He'd been turned into a veritable mouth-breather (a term his often used as both greeting and insult whenever he had the misfortune of coming into contact with Serin's resident idiot). In light of all these unpleasantness, Midorima decided he might as well succumb to slumber. 

He was roused into consciousness sometime later by feel of soft hair tickling the underside of his nose and the familiar scent of drug-store shampoo. He opened one gummy eyelid and realized he was no longer alone. Takao was curled up against him like dried shrimp. The raven haired point guard seemed to have no concept of personal space. At least, not when it came to the team's ace. Midorima rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and reached for his glasses.

In that moment, upon fully waking, it became abundantly clear to Midorima Shintarō that sometime during his early morning catnap, his feverish dreams had turned into  _feverish_  dreams.

Midorima pushed Takao away like he was a leper, "Oi. Just what the hell do you think you're doing idiot?"

He pulled mint-green bedcovers all the way up to his chin like a scandalized maiden, like he wasn't already clad up to his neck in a long-sleeve pajama top, pajama bottoms and a matching nightcap.

The both of them would be hard pressed to find anyone in the northernmost prefecture in the dead of night and in the middle of winter (let alone the start of the school year in April) who wore more to bed than Midorima Shintarō. Eskimos owned more revealing sleepwear than the green-haired tsundere.   

"You told me to come over," the point guard reminded him as if his mere presence in Midorima's bedroom was the problem.

"I didn't say to crawl into bed with me." He retorted, or rather croaked. His voice sounded liked he'd swallowed a cactus, or like he'd used his throat to --. _Nope._  He was not going to finish that thought. That thought conjured images of the ill-timed dream he'd had and more specifically what he'd been doing in it. He blamed the sore throat for making it feel all too real. None of this was helping to calm his morning er-, _condition_.

Undeterred and quite used to Midorima's standoffish, prissy ways, Takao resumed his position beside his light. "Shin-chan feels overheated," he commented as he snuggled closer. Ship barnacles were less clingy. "Could it be that his body is reacting to my company?"

Takao was only teasing, but Midorima stiffened. He always, _always_ , took the bait which caused Takao to sprout a wicked smile that gave every indication he was up to no good. 

Midorima sputtered in embarrassment. "That's because I have a fever, idiot."

Fever or no fever, Midorima was blushing crimson now. He'd woken up like this, he told himself. This was a normal physiological phenomenon. It had nothing to do with Takao's physical proximity now, even if the dream that had gotten him into this shameful state had Kazunari putting on quite the vociferous performance.  _Stop it!_ He was not going to think about it. Midorima strengthened his resolve and tried to talk himself down, so to speak. 

Takao's devilish smile grew wider. "Then Shin-chan won't mind if I check to make sure."

He reached to pull back the covers, but Midorima's quicker reflexes didn't fail him. He did _not_ need to give Takao any more ammunition to tease him. It was bad enough that he couldn't hide the furious blush that had crept up on his face, the hawkeye didn't need to see evidence that his blood flow had been diverted anywhere else. 

Panicked and in the struggle that ensued, Midorima kicked Takao out of bed, literally.

"Ouch Shin-chan, that hurt," Takao protested from below, rubbing his elbow.

He'd only meant to shove Takao, create some desperately needed space between them so he could think clearly, without Takao and his intrusive pheromones clouding his good judgment and corroding his integrity. But he hadn't accounted for Takao's smaller size. Midorima had pushed him too hard causing the point guard to lose his balance and fall onto the floor. Midorima couldn't very well bring himself to say he was sorry for his actions. Apologizing was antithetical to his tsundere nature. So he did the next best thing. 

"Did my mother let you in?" he asked in hopes of appeasing the wounded party by changing the subject. 

Takao started laughing and continued to do so until he was rolling around on the floor grabbing his sides in stitches. "Considering the woman who opened the door was holding the business end of a vacuum cleaner nozzle and wearing rubber cleaning gloves, I'd say it was definitely not _your_ mother."

Midorima scowled at him which by now was a matter of course, a reflex rather than any offended response to Takao's remark. To be fair, his mother wasn't your stereotypical mother. In fact, she had yet to come to his room to see how he was doing. 

"Which reminds me," Takao said interrupting Midorima's thoughts. "I've got your lucky item." He sat up, reached into his school bag and pulled out a plastic sack, one of those generic ones with a yellow happy face stamped on it.

Takao held the bag with both hands, like his was giving his teammate a rare and valuable gift instead of a cheap 100-yen store purchase. "I present to you," he paused for dramatic emphasis, "Cancer's lucky item." 

"Kitchen gloves." 

"Yeah." Takao laughed. "I was so relieved when Oha Asa announced it. I was worried it was going to be something really hard to find or really expensive." 

Takao's concern over Midorima's lucky item was touching. Midorima had often been teased about the seemingly strange items he brought to school. The larger the item, the more he was targeted. No one had ever taken his devotion to Oha Asa seriously. But more importantly, before Takao there had been no one that Midorima could have counted on to help him find his lucky item, let alone bring it to him. If he'd been unable to procure it for one reason or another at Teikō, then that just meant he'd have to make do without it. It meant that he'd failed to do everything humanly possible that day and was at fate's mercy. Midorima knew Takao didn't put much stock in horoscopes. The hawkeye didn't believe rubber kitchen gloves would change the course of Midorima's day, but he respected his partner enough to fret over getting it right.

"I would've paid you back. I wouldn't expect you to - -"

"Yeah, I know. I just wouldn't want to disappoint my ace-sama if all the money in my piggy bank still wasn't enough to cover it." Being a devoted follower of Oha Asa wasn't cheap. 

Though he'd never actually voice it out loud, Midorima sometimes felt like he didn't deserve a partner like Takao. He didn't know what he'd ever done to inspire Takao's devotion, but he knew he was damn lucky to have it and he'd do everything humanly possible to keep it. 

"I would've brought some from home, but my mother would definitely notice hers missing," the hawkeye explained as if his actions hadn't turned Midorima's cynical heart into roughly the consistency of tapioca pudding. 

Satisfied with having satisfactorily presented Midorima with his quarry, Takao got back on the bed and snuggled close to him like he was making himself comfortable, like he had no intention of getting out of Midorima's bed.

This time, Midorima allowed it. For a moment. Before he came to his senses. He grabbed the shorter student by the back collar of his gakuran and peeled him off like he was removing a bloody bandage, disgustedly. 

"Oi! What the hell are you doing, idiot? Don't you have somewhere else to be? You're going to miss the opening ceremony."

Dejectedly Takao got out of Midorima's bed. His uniform was a wrinkled, hopeless mess. Though to be fair, it wasn't like Takao ever wore it like Midorima did, in strict adherence to school protocol and starched and ironed to within an inch of its life. 

"Takao," Midorima said feebly when his teammate reached to open door of his bedroom. "Are to coming back after school?" He tried to sound disinterested and failed miserably. 

"Hai, Hai!" Takao's irrepressible smile was blinding and infectious. Once again Midorima sought to hide his response to Takao Kazunari beneath the covers, lest the corners of his mouth betray him into mirroring Takao's expression. 

"Sweet dreams my ace-sama. I'll be back before you know it." Midorima heard him from the safety of 500-thread count Egyptian cotton and this time he allowed himself a small smile.   

* * *

  **AN:** I've decided to write a few ficlets for [MidoTaka Week](http://www.midotakaweek.tumblr.com/). They will be loosely based on the prompts and all take place in the same universe as the [You're the One](http://archiveofourown.org/series/123243) series. You don't have to be familiar with the series to understand the ficlets, but if you'd like to read it, you should start with [Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1785538/chapters/3826192). I hope you enjoy my MidoTaka Week entries. - JMet


	2. Hang in There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midorima glared at the new poster over Takao's bed as if it had personally insulted his mother.
> 
> Takao followed his line of sight. "You like it, Shin-chan? My sister gave it to me. Her school had a book fair." Takao used the eraser tip of his pencil to push the hair out of his eyes. "She bought all sorts of neat things, stickers, a key chain, markers. She even got me that poster."
> 
> It figured that someone as flighty as Takao's little sister would go to a school sanctioned, educational function like a book fair and walk out with nary a scrap of reading material. Not even a manga.

**Day 2 Prompt: Cats**

Midorima glared at the new poster over Takao's bed as if it had personally insulted his mother.

Takao followed his line of sight. "You like it, Shin-chan? My sister gave it to me. Her school had a book fair." Takao used the eraser tip of his pencil to push the hair out of his eyes. "She bought all sorts of neat things, stickers, a key chain, markers. She even got me that poster."

Takao pointed to it with his pencil as if he were a museum docent, as if Midorima would be confused as to which one of the many "masterpieces" that adorned the prosaic walls of the hawkeye's bedroom he was referring to. 

It figured that someone as flighty as Takao's little sister would go to a school sanctioned, educational function like a book fair and walk out with nary a scrap of reading material. Not even a manga.

Takao put down his writing instrument and grinned admiringly at the poster. "We fight a lot," he said, referring to his sister, "but every once in a while, she's not so bad."

Midorima grunted noncommittaly. As far as he was concerned, the jury was still out on that one. He had yet to see this "not so bad" version of Takao's little sister. If you asked him, he'd say she was terrifying.

Blessedly, she was still in middle school. Thank heaven for small mercies. He only ever had to deal with her when he came over to Takao's house, which admittedly was more and more often these days. Things at his own home weren't fairing so well and if he were being completely honest with himself he preferred the hawkeye's company at trying times like these. 

Kazumi was a grade level below them which was a respite, albeit a quickly fleeting one. At the beginning of the next academic year, she would be joining her brother at Shūtoku High and then -- heaven help him - - there would be two of them at school for Midorima to contend with. 

She was just as loud and noisy and frivolous as her brother. Midorima could feel his heart accelerate at an alarming speed at the sight of her, but it was a markedly different kind of heart flutter than the ones he experienced in proximity to her brother. His on the court partner inspired in his heart what Midorima would steadfastly continue to insist was "dread," even if that "dread" made him feel all lightheaded whenever the point guard leaned close. She, on the other hand, inspired fear. 

Takao Kazumi ignited Midorima Shintarō's flight response like little else. She gave him anxious heart palpitations at the mere sound of her voice. And not the good kind. She was unpredictable. A ball of energy full of unpleasant surprises. She reminded him of one of those gag cans of nuts you'd find in a joke shop. The ones with a coiled up snake-spring ready to scare the bejesus out of some poor, unsuspecting soul. In Kazumi's case, Midorima Shintarō was always that poor unsuspecting soul.

She made him nervous, to say the least. He could never tell if she was going to make fun of him or, infinitely worse, _flirt_ with him. The thought alone sent shivers down Midorima's perfectly postured spine. In any case, he knew from experience that an encounter with Kazumi was guaranteed to be painful and assuredly awkward.

He tried to focus his attention on his school work. They had a biology quiz the following morning. Biology and chemistry were Midorima's best subjects. He'd hoped Takao would learn by osmosis.

It wasn't a terribly important quiz. It counted for a piddly two percent of their grade, a piffle really. He could easily afford to get a zero on it (as if!) and still come out with top marks in the class. 

Though he was a straight A student and number one in their freshman class (now that he didn't have Akashi to lose out to), Midorima insisted on studying for this quiz like it was a final exam. He believed in doing everything humanly possible to succeed in life and that meant taking quizzes seriously, he'd told Takao. Earlier, he'd lectured the hawkeye on the importance of reading ahead and signing up for extra credit projects. 

Unlike Midorima, Takao needed to pass this quiz. He needed all the help he could get. The point guard was not academically gifted to put it mildly. He was hopeless in biology.

The only class he somewhat exceled at was English. In fact, English may have been Takao's best subject, as the point guard liked to proudly point out, but that didn't mean he was particularly great at it. Takao was a lackluster student, so it was not saying much. Sometimes Coach Nakatani graded their papers during practice. Shintarō always knew when the man had gotten to Takao's when he saw that prominent vein on the man's weathered forehead start to bulge out.

Takao was decidedly an average student. His grades were enough to keep him playing on the basketball team, which was all Takao really cared about anyway. Beyond that, the hawkeye was not particularly motivated to do well in the classroom.

This was precisely why Midorima was so insistent on coming over to Takao's house after school lately. Someone had to make sure he didn't lag behind on his school work. It was for the good of the team, he told himself. He couldn't well be teammates with a flunky.   

Midorima found his eyes wandering back to that annoying, sickly-sweet poster. That fluffy feline face, those disgusting drippy little eyes that seemed to stare back at him and worst of all that sanctimonious, goody-two-shoes message. 

Why would Takao even ask him if he liked that hideous poster? Midorima Shintarō hated cats. Everyone knew this. Takao of all people, should have known this. It was one of the first things about himself he'd made sure to mention after Takao had insisted on befriending him and after much resistance Midorima (recognizing a lost cause when he saw one) had reluctantly concluded that he wouldn't be able to shake off the noisy idiot. 

This feline revulsion, this tidbit of trivia was even printed in one of his many interviews with Basketball Monthly during his middle school years along with his strong disdain for natto. Midorima knew Takao read Basketball Monthly even though he claimed it was a snooty publication with an unhealthy obsession over the Kiseki no Sedai, treating everyone else in the sport like garbage.

Midorima had even seen copies of Basketball Monthly in Takao's room. Sure, they were squirreled away under the mattress and in that small gap between the bed and the wall the way he imagined Aomine hid his repulsive gravure magazines. Some of the photo spreads had been torn out. The issue where Akashi was featured was missing its cover. Others looked like they had been used for target practice. Midorima couldn't find any pictures of himself in the remaining pages. He wondered why Takao did that, tore out the pages. He wondered what the hawkeye did with them or why he felt the need to hide the glossy magazine like it was contraband.

Takao's bedroom was small, messy and entirely average, Midorima had noticed. But for reasons that escaped him, he really, really liked being in it. It's so small his twin bed had to be pushed up into the corner against the back and side wall (not with the headboard centered the way Shintarō's own bed was positioned), otherwise there'd be no space for anything else.

Takao's bed has no headboard and no footboard and of all things, it had wheels. Shintarō knew this because he'd looked under the bed's skirt. Even he recognized this was worrying behavior. Unlike Aomine, looking up skirts was not something he was in the habit of doing. It was an action he couldn't explain away other than where Takao was concerned, he found himself doing very strange things.

Shintarō's own bed had a headboard _and_ a footboard. It was made of solid impoted mahogany and there were no wheels in sight because it was a proper bed, big enough for two, not that he'd ever thought of sharing it with anyone.

Midorima had never lain down on Takao's bed, he'd only ever sat on it. But just from eyeing it (Shintarō had always been good with space and distance) he knew it was too small for the both of them. It was just as well that there was no footboard. His feet would stick out at the end. It was a wayward thought that escaped the tsundere entirely unbidden. It turned his cheeks a violent shade of crimson. He willed himself to stop blushing, Takao could know nothing of this.

"You okay Shin-chan?" Takao asked, sounding mildly concerned but not bothering to look up from the trading cards he thought he'd stealthily tucked away inside the pages of his biology textbook.

Midorima often forgot that the hawkeye didn't just work on the basketball court. It was a most inconvenient fact he was still getting used to. Not that he could even envision a scenario where he'd have even the remotest inclination to steal a glance at the point guard.

It was very bad feng shui to have the side of a bed pushed up against the wall the way Takao had his. Midorima knew this, but he didn't say anything to his teammate. He didn't see the point. Midorima would only end up making Takao feel bad. And somehow that wasn't something he could consciously bring himself to do anymore. At least where Takao was concerned.

Shintarō was not accustomed to holding his tongue. He'd often been told he didn't have a mouth filter, but he bit his tongue every so often now. Lately, he found himself taking Takao's feelings into account at least some of the time, whenever those feelings of "dread" wrapped their tentacles around his heart and made it beat faster. 

It couldn't be helped. There was nothing the point guard could do about the square footage he'd been allotted in his own home. Takao's sister's bedroom was even smaller. She was inexplicably proud of it and was always trying to lure Midorima into it. 

It was only then that it occurred to him that maybe the reason Takao loved that sickeningly-sweet cat poster so much was that his sister had bought it for him. And maybe the reason Kazumi hadn't bought any reading material of her own at the book fair was because her spending money had been just enough to buy those cheap little trinkets for herself and that poster for her big brother. In fact, that poster had probably taken up the lion's share of her pocket money.

Midorima glance around the room. Compared to Takao's other decor, the girlish poster seemed to stick out. The hawkeye's bedroom was terribly decorated, if it could even be called that. Shintarō used the word loosely. Takao clearly did all of it himself. For the most part, the walls are covered in posters of Takao's favorite rock groups. Midorima preferred classical music over all other kinds of music. Some of the posters have been torn out of magazines. Shintarō could clearly see the crease down the center and the small puncture marks where the staples had been removed. Others were bought for the express purpose of adorning the wall, a thought that boggled Shintarō's mind.

Midorima's bedroom was done by his mother's decorator in a style that would be right at home in one of those architectural magazines. In fact, their home has been recently featured in one of those magazines, but not Shintarō's room. It was mostly pictures of their prize-winning, traditional Japanese garden, the tea room and of all places their kitchen. None of his family members spent much time in the kitchen, least of all his mother. Yet, she'd posed beside the open door of the oven wearing a pristine apron and holding a (prop) pie. His father had even come home for the photo of the four of them in their living room and was gone before the photographer's assistant had even finished packing up the equipment.

These days his mother would leave the family home sometimes too. Shintarō no longer fretted when she was not at the breakfast table. There was no shortage of persons at home who were paid to take care of him and his little sister, to make sure they were fed and bathed and in his case, attended school everyday. It was not like their mother had done any of those things before anyway.

Shintarō was not sure if his father still lived with the family anymore. He was gone more and more often now and for longer periods of time. When he was younger, he used to like to pretend his father came home from work late at night and left before Midorima even woke up in the mornings. He'd even stayed up the whole night once to test his hypothesis. All he'd gotten for his troubles was a very sleepy next day. Shintarō no longer thought such childish thoughts. His father's extended absences were kind of a murky area he didn't like to think about. And he certainly would never talk about it.

He took great pains not to mention his family to anyone. Part of him wished Takao would just assume he lived by himself and didn't have a family - - like that red headed idiot on Serin's team. It was not like Midorima had to worry about an unexplained group of people who resemble him showing up to any of his games and cheering him on. But Takao was chatty and exceedingly inquisitive when it came to Midorima. It was only a matter of time before he has to say _something_ about them.

He was not in any particular hurry to have any of his Shūtoku teammates witness his mother throw all of his father's clothes from the second story balcony onto the front lawn only to have one of the maids pick them up by nightfall once it became clear the man would not be coming home for dinner and wouldn't be there witness his wife's latest cry for attention.

Midorima knew it was cliché for someone his age to feel embarrassed by his parents, but not like this. He couldn't invite Takao past the front gates. It didn't matter that the hawkeye's hints about going inside dropped like anvils.

Midorima got through his detailed and meticulous notes on cell structure and function. They were outlined in his perfect penmanship. He leaned over the low table at the center of the room where they both were studying and peered at Takao's chicken scratch, allowing curiosity to get the better of him. "That's it?" 

"That's what?"

"Your notes for the entire chapter are three pages long? Were you even paying attention during the in-class review today?" He scowled disapprovingly.

"You know I can't write that fast, Shin-chan."

Midorima sighed dramatically as if he were being gravely inconvenienced. "Here," he said. "You can look at mine."

"Gee, thanks Shin-chan!"

Midorima harrumphed. "Don't get used to it. I expect you to do your own work, Takao"  

They were supposed to be studying for their biology quiz, but Midorima Shintarō found himself staring again at that obnoxious cat poster on Takao's wall with its cloying message of, "Hang in There."

For a moment, he felt it was sagely speaking to him and his familial woes. Then he sighed miserably. _Great_ , now he was susceptible to receiving advice from cats.

###

A week later, Midorima Shintarō was in Takao's room doing his homework. 

"Kazu-nii!" An excited middle schooler squealed as she burst into her brother's bedroom.

The door had been opened so quickly, the shooting guard was afraid he'd gotten caught staring at Takao's lips. The hawkeye always bit the lower one when he was concentrating on something, not that Midorima had noticed or anything. It certainly wasn't a motivating factor in insisting that he supervise Takao doing his homework and it didn't drive him to distraction or keep him up at night thinking about it. 

She'd just gotten home and was still wearing her backpack. "Kazu-nii! You bought me a manga! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're the best brother ever!"

"Wha --"

"This one," she said, shoving it in her brother's face. "It was on my bed. It's the new one, too."

"I didn't --" Takao started to say, but Midorima beat him to it.

"I left it for you," the tsundere said to gaping mouths and astonished stares from two identical sets of steel-blue eyes.

" _What_?" the Takao siblings said in unison. 

Midorima pushed his glasses up the bridge of nose, clearly uncomfortable with the unwanted attention. "Yesterday's lucky item was a shōjo manga. I was going to throw it out, anyway. It's of no use to me today." He reached for a pair of bunny rabbit ears on the table to show he had today's lucky item. 

"Woah. Good thing you didn't dump it. It's my favorite manga too. Thank you Shin--, I mean Midorima-san," she said before skipping off to her room to read her new novel.

Takao looked at him with a peculiar expression on his face. The green-haired tsundere averted his gaze, buried his nose deep in his chemistry textbook. There was so much emotion in those perceptive steel-blue eyes Midorima couldn't bear to look at them.

"Shin-chan," he said and Midorima knew what was coming. "Yesterday's lucky item was a pair of fuzzy --"

"Shut up, Takao," Midorima said, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

* * *

  **AN1:** This was the [poster](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/405605510161486991/) I had in mind for this story. (No, that's not my Pinterest account). 

 **AN2:** I don't know what to do about the chronology of these chapters. I'm posting in order of the prompts, but this chapter takes place before chapter 1. In this chapter, they're close enough already that Midorima is aware of his burgeoning feelings for Takao, but not as comfortable as they are in chapter 1 where Takao can snuggle up to Shin-chan without fear of ~~serious~~ bodily injury. Sorry for the confusion.


	3. These Bros Ain't Loyal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao and Kise go clubbing. Midorima gets dragged unwillingly into babysitting duty.
> 
> Posted on 6/10. Happy MidoTaka Day!

**Day 3 Prompt: Music**

Midorima rolled his pretty green eyes at his boyfriend's beckoning palms. He knew from experience one did not want to be in the same room when Takao Kazunari and Kise Ryōta were sharing a dance floor. When those two got together, it invariably turned into a dance off.

That crybaby copycat may have had a built-in advantage (able to mimic anyone's dance moves), but Takao could hold his own, which meant they'd both be at it _forever_ and Midorima wouldn't have a prayer of getting home at a reasonable hour. He'd be lucky to get out of there before the sun came up.

It was the same thing back in high school when they played that infernal dance video game at the arcade. Except now they were older, alcohol had loosened already low inhibitions, and Midorima had the additional worry of permanent hearing loss courtesy of the loud music blaring from unseen speakers.

Takao had tried to lure him onto the dance floor, but Midorima wasn't going to fall for that. "Stupid, Shin-chan," he said with a goofy smile brimming with affection. He was already slurring his words. "Of course, I wouldn't tease you for that."

Midorima could keep time and rhythm. He was a classically trained pianist, after all. But when it came to moving his feet, he could be a little  _stiff_  and having Takao on the dance floor coaxing him only heightened his self-consciousness. There was no way he could keep up with Kise and Takao's insane, convoluted dance moves. He preferred staying out of it all together. 

Kise naturally drew a crowd, but Midorima wasn't blind to Takao's own charms and neither was anyone else. And not being able to take his hawkeye home with him when he was sweating and smiling and being ogled by everyone else at the club who was not Midorima Shintarō was his version of hell.

Just because Kise happened to have won the gene pool lottery didn't mean Midorima was jealous of that idiot. After all, he acted like he had fuzz for brains and though Midorima knew it was all an act, Ryōta had been playing the fool for so long and so convincingly, he was starting to believe it himself.

They were in one of those underground nightclubs that only Kise's questionable connections could've uncovered. It was one of those places that had no front door and you had to know someone to gain admittance. Even if your name was on the list, it was no guarantee you'd actually get in. Someone higher on the social ladder could always show up and bump you off.

According to as reputable a source as Ryōta, it was _the_ hottest nightclub in Tokyo at the moment. If he had been referring to the temperature in the room instead of its ambiance, Midorima would've readily concurred. The sweat-soaked button down sticking to his back was proof positive that he was sitting in a sauna. 

Midorima was starting to feel lightheaded and he didn't know if it was the sweltering heat or the glass tumbler of top-shelf French vodka he'd been nursing all night.

He'd insisted on ordering a bottle. Not because he'd planned to drink more than a glass of it, but because it was his ticket to securing a reserved table in the roped-off VIP section. Midorima, who hadn't a frugal bone in his body, didn't so much as blink at the considerable markup for bottle service and would've paid twice that if it meant he didn't have to rub elbows with the plebeians on the wrong side of the velvet rope.

As the night wore on, Takao and Kise had made a significant dent in the bottle's contents with Ryōta supplementing his libations with the mixers that had come with their VIP service to make frilly cosmopolitan cocktails for himself.  _Seriously_ , how Kise Ryōta's legion of female fans hadn't gotten a clue where his romantic interests lay was incomprehensible. 

The hawkeye and the copycat were both getting sloppy and it was starting to show. Takao, unsurprisingly, was a giggly drunk. He was laughing at nothing and everything like an imbecile. Kise, on the other hand, was an emotional drunk, even more emotional than normal. He was getting ready to turn on the waterworks.

"Midorimacchi's so mean," he pouted when Midorima took his martini glass away after it was clear the model was beyond inebriated and well on his way to swinging from the chandler. 

Like a petulant child, he tried to grab his drink back from Midorima and when it proved a daunting task --  given that Midorima continued to be taller than him by six centimeters and only one of them still had any semblance of hand-eye-coordination -- he'd started to cry.

Midorima wanted to punch Kise in the face, even more so than usual. It wasn't just his obnoxious behavior that got under the tsundere's skin. The bubbly blonde looked far prettier than anyone had a right to be when they were three sheets to the wind.   

In the ensuing struggle, Kise knocked the glass out of Midorima's hand spilling its chilled contents onto the broadest back Midorima had ever seen. _Whoops._

The injured party quickly turned around and if he'd seemed large before, he looked  enormous now that he'd gotten out of his chair and was fuming. 

Clearly the man had a gland problem, he was a giant. Leave it to Kise Ryōta to spill his drink on the biggest man here. And it wasn't even plain vodka, it was one of those pinkish-red cosmos Kise had been imbibing all night. 

"We were just -- " Midorima had started to say by way of explanation, but the man wasn't having it.

"You better watch it, pal," he said menacingly.

Midorima got the message loud and clear, but Kise was a drunken moron. "You can't talk to my friend like that. Tell him Midorimacchi - - "

"Shut up, idiot," Midorima gritted through his teeth at his former teammate. 

"It was an accident-ssu."

"He doesn't care, Kise." 

Already tired of their bickering, the man interjected, "Hey Four-eyes. If you don't take care of your things," he gestured to Kise, "they might get broken."

Clearly the man was operating under a grave misunderstanding. This brute was sorely mistaken if he thought they were an item. Midorima would just have to set the record straight. "This one's not mine, that one is," he said pointing to a blissfully unaware, shit-faced Takao who was hugging a column and barely keeping himself upright. 

"You're mean!" Kise unhelpfully declared to the man who could easily beat both of them into a bloody pulp.

The man stared at the model like he was a bug he sorely wanted to crush. Then he turned his attention to Midorima. "Your boyfriend's got a death wish or something?" 

"No. See. That's what I was trying to say." The music in the club was so loud he actually had to lean into his would-be assailant just so they could have a conversation. "He's not my --" 

Suddenly, the man was shoved from behind. "Leave Midorimacchi alone." Ugh! Kise was going to get them both killed.

"That's it, Blondie. I've had enough of your lip."

Midorima found himself in a bit of an ethical quandary. It was becoming more and more evident that if he didn't intervene, Kise was going to get his pretty face bashed in.

The problem was that while Midorima got into altercations often, sometimes multiple times a day, they were never of the physical variety. And while his mother had seen fit to bestow upon her son (via private tutors) such essential life skills as tea etiquette, calligraphy, and flower arrangement, she'd never once thought to enroll him in any kind of self-defense class. Thus, Midorima had a gaping hole in his skill set, one he didn't realize existed up until that moment. While Midorima had been teased often in his younger years, his above average height and build had always kept the bullies at bay, until now when he was up against a 300 pound gorilla who would've given Atsushi a run for his money in the over-sized behemoth department. 

On the one hand, he had his medical career to think of. He couldn't well become a surgeon if he got his hand broken in a fistfight. On the other hand, Kise was already in his twenties. It was unclear how long he would continue to shamelessly grace the cover of Zunon _Boy_ magazine. He had two -, three years tops, left in his modeling career. Midorima was trying to quickly weigh his options. 

It wasn't like he could even count on anyone backing him up. He gave a quick, hopeful glance at the person he was _actually_ dating. Takao had given up all pretenses of standing upright. But he hadn't let that minor detail impede him from shaking his rump. He was now on the floor flopping his hands and feet in a semblance of a dance move Midorima had learned (from the hawkeye) was called the "worm." 

 _Fuck._ He couldn't believe he was going to get his perfectly straight teeth knocked out over Kise Ryōta. That idiot wasn't even his boyfriend.

**###**

"Wow. Midorimacchi, your eye is really red." 

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

Kise was blessedly quiet for a moment, like he was thinking _really_ hard about something, like he was concentrating on a particularly difficult problem. "I don't know," he finally concluded. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" Midorima was down to his last nerve and Kise Ryōta was keen on snapping it.

"I think," he hiccuped. "It looks like it hurts." 

"It does, idiot. Now shut-up." 

Midorima had many complaints about tonight. His biggest complaint was sitting beside him in the backseat on the cab ride home asking stupid questions. His next biggest complaint was lax security measures. You'd think that a club with such posh clientele (Midorima had spotted a starlet from one of his mother's favorite soap operas) would've hired more attentive bouncers.   

At least he'd had the good-judgment to remove his glasses _before_ he got punched in the face by an irate neanderthal. It was only then that security broke up the entirely one-sided brawl and kicked both parties to the curb. 

Kise, who'd been the catalyst for the fracas, got off without so much as a golden strand of hair out of place. Midorima, on the other hand, would be lucky if he'd be able to open his left eye tomorrow.  

It had taken all the money he had in his wallet just to get a cab to drive them home. It wasn't the distance from the club to Midorima and Takao's apartment so much as the fact that _no one_ wanted to take a pair of drunk imbeciles into their pristine taxi. 

Takao looked about as steady as a newborn calf and judging from the greenish hue he was sporting was about to spew all that top-shelf liquor he'd ingested.

Kise, on the other hand, was pissed drunk. _No really_ , he'd wet his pants during the melee. And he was going to have to sleep in them too because there was no way in hell Midorima Shintarō was going take them off. Removing Kise Ryōta's skin-tight snakeskin leather pants (just how deep in denial were his fangirls?) went above and beyond the call of duty, particularly when it was abundantly clear from the seamless curve of his pert ass that he wasn't wearing anything underneath.  

###

It was not like Midorima particularly wanted to bring Kise home with them, but he had little choice in the matter. He didn't trust the annoying bastard not to asphyxiate in his own vomit if left to his own devices. Though he often told Kise Ryōta to go die, he didn't _actually_ want him to do it.

Less than ten minutes after they'd arrived at Takao and Midorima's apartment, Kise was fast asleep (or rather, passed out cold). Midorima had the foresight to slip one of those wee-wee pads (one that had been left over from when Takao had signed them up to dogsit Nigō during one of Kuroko and Kagami's many trips to L.A.) underneath the model in case Kise wasn't done relieving himself for the night.

Takao needed to stop being such good friends with Midorima's friends because clearly Midorima's friends were idiots. Exhibit A of the idiot brigade was sound asleep in their guest room, or to what Midorima's parents was "Takao's room." 

To be fair, Takao had spent the occasional night in that room. This had been particularly true the first year of Midorima's med school career which had been a hellish trial by fire intentionally designed to weed out all but the strongest candidates. But Midorima was in his third year now, he was at the top of his class, and not even his professors could match the dexterity he possessed in his hands. By now Takao was only relegated to sleeping in their spare bedroom when finals came around and Midorima turned into a round-the-clock study robot fueled only by caffeine and the fear of failure.

Midorima opened their stainless steel glass-door refrigerator. For a medical student he surprisingly didn't have any cold compresses. He pulled out the only thing he could find in a pinch, a slab of raw kobe beef and placed it against his swollen oculus. It hadn't been the delicacy's intended purpose, but its cold temperature felt soothing against his aching eye socket.

Takao started to giggle. 

"What are you laughing at, fool?"

"Shin-chan's nose is bleeding," he snickered.

"Ugh! Not again?" Midorima wiped it with a nearby kitchen cloth. 

"That's cause Shin-chan's a pervert." 

Midorima glanced at his wristwatch. Well, they _had_ made it home before dawn, but just barely. He gathered his giggling idiot in his arms and said, "Let's go to bed, fool," before carting him off bridal style.

"Shin-chan's gonna show me his private dance moves." 

"Yeah, yeah," he humored Kazunari. The hawkeye could hardly walk straight. There would be none of that today.

Two minutes later, Takao proceeded to relieve his stomach of its share of a 30,000 yen bottle of vodka.  _Fuck_.

* * *

**AN1:** This chapter was inspired in part by [lupisashes](http://lupisashes.tumblr.com/post/120443585678/takao-strikes-me-as-the-guy-thatd-rock-the-whole)' awesome head cannon that Takao would be a DDR expert. (Kise's DDR abilities are documented in the source material). I stumbled upon his or her head cannon when browsing the KnB tags on tumblr. So, thank you!

 **AN2:** Yes, the title is a play on that [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXRN_LkCa_o). 

~~**AN3:** I'm itching to write KiKasa in this 'verse but I find the prospect of writing Kise daunting. He's such a complex character and there are all these layers to him. He's like a really pretty onion that would need to be peeled away as the story progresses. It's intimidating.~~


	4. Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao takes a stroll down memory lane and ends up knocking over the silverware.

**Day 4 Prompt: Fate**

Takao was surrounded by cardboard, permanent markers, and duct tape. Their things were in moving boxes again, or at least a good deal of them were. But unlike last time, this was a happy occasion. This was the happiest of occasions. An occasion Takao hadn't seen coming, but one that transformed his handsome visage into a face-splitting grin that spread from ear to ear whenever the thought crossed his mind.

The hawkeye could be forgiven for turning into an overemotional puddle of syrupy goo even months later, just thinking about it. It was all so unexpected. Takao hadn't anticipated it. He'd never thought a marriage proposal was in the cards. He had thought that living together would be it for them and he had been okay with that.

But Midorima hadn't been. If the events of the past had taught him anything, it was that he'd be charting his own fate from now on. That's what he'd told Takao. Shin-chan didn't just want to live together. It wasn't enough for him. Not anymore. 

Shin-chan, being the traditional dork that he was, had even gone to see Takao's parents and asked them beforehand. But _only_ Takao's parents. Shin-chan had rightfully concluded that if Takao's sister had been home, it would've ruined the surprise.

Kazumi was physically incapable of keeping a secret for even a negligible amount of time and was as adept at teasing Midorima as Takao was. She would've had a field day torturing poor Shin-chan and Takao wouldn't have gotten that deer-in-headlights, surprise proposal he'd never dreamed of and never saw coming.

Even though he had not been there to witness it, Takao had no trouble picturing his adorable tsundere all nervous and in his best haori heading over to Takao's childhood home to ask his parents for permission to marry him. Even though the well-heeled doctor had amassed dozens of haoris, Takao knew exactly which one his now fiancé must have worn. There was that face splitting grin again. Shin-chan was beyond adorable. Takao didn't know how he could stand it sometimes. 

The proposal had taken place months ago and so Takao had had time to get used to the idea. He'd had enough time to plan an intimate, garden wedding slated to take place at Shin-chan's parents' enormous Tokyo compound and then he'd marched right back to the drawing board when Shin-chan had quietly confided in him that what he really wanted, above all else, was a _legal_ marriage. And so Takao had redoubled his efforts and poured all of his considerable energy into organizing a destination wedding instead.

All the details had been taken care of. The venue was booked, the invitations had been sent out, the plane tickets were purchased and printed out. Now, all that was left for them to do was pack up their things and get hitched.

The movers would be coming around later that week to pick up the boxes that Takao was carefully labeling in permanent marker. These same boxes would be sitting in their new home awaiting their return from their honeymoon a few weeks later. Their boxed-up worldly possessions (the ones they weren't throwing out or giving to charity) would be on the other side of the threshold of what would be the rest of their lives together.

In the meantime, Takao had his work cut out for him. They both had jobs, but Shin-chan's was more demanding on his time and so the task of packing up their two-bedroom apartment fell mostly on Kazunari's shoulders. 

As if that weren't enough, he was also packing for a destination wedding and the honeymoon that followed. Their suits were hanging in their respective garment bags in the hall closet. Kazunari had picked them both up from the tailor's this morning, now that Shin-chan had finally gone for his final fitting and the alterations had been completed.

The passports were in Shin-chan's carry-on because he freaked out about things like that and was most likely afraid Takao would distractedly leave his own behind in the cab on the way to the airport. He wasn't nearly as harebrained as Shin-chan sometimes thought him to be. Still, the hawkeye hadn't packed a thing for his honeymoon and even though he'd joked with Shin-chan that that had been intentional, he really did need to stuff some clothes into his suitcase soon or he wouldn't be doing any sightseeing.

Takao grabbed another roll of bubble wrap with which to swaddle Shin-chan's grandmother's very expensive fine bone china. For the most part, Shin-chan's lucky item neurosis had calmed down significantly over the years, especially after he and Takao had moved in together. For reasons neither one of them liked to talk about, the bulk of Shin-chan's lucky items had been sold off years ago. Even so, they'd decided to hold on to a few of them for sentimental reasons. Kerosuke was one of them. He'd been safely tucked away in packing peanuts inside a box marked "fragile" which Takao had planned to hand-carry and drop off before catching their flight. 

Even though they were moving to bigger and better digs, Kazunari was really going to miss this place. It had been their first home together and over the years it had accumulated many blissful (and sometimes hilarious) memories of their life together. There had been a few not so cheerful ones too, but overall they had been _very_ happy here and he was really going to miss this place.

They had been here since they were college freshmen. It was an apartment they had for years been filling up with the minutiae of their commingled lives together. And the evidence of their existence as a couple was piling up around him in moving boxes.  

Earlier in the evening, he'd taken a break from his labor when he'd heard the jingle jangle of a familiar set of keys. Shin-chan made every effort to make it home at a reasonable hour, but oftentimes there were circumstances beyond his control.

Still, it was better than when Shin-chan was doing his residency. Anything was better than that. Takao barely saw his partner in those days and when he did, Midorima was so sleep-deprived it was like he was living with a zombie doctor, which cracked him up since Midorima's specialty was brain surgery. Shin-chan was no longer working for peanuts on the graveyard shift at the hospital. It was a despised post manned by all the newbie doctors until a new crop of newbie doctors with freshly printed diplomas came along. For that, Takao was grateful.

Upon Shin-chan's arrival, Kazunari stopped what he was doing to heat up dinner for his hardworking husband-to-be. The hawkeye had made kimchi and then he'd dotingly taken his fiancé to bed. 

They had both fallen asleep afterwards, but Takao had unsurprisingly awoken a meager few hours later. In the weeks preceding the wedding, the hawkeye's sleep cycle had become erratic.

He was now putting all that pent up, nervous energy to good use. He had to go to work in the morning, but as long as he was up, he decided he might as well continue to put a dent on the monumental task of packing up an apartment that had witnessed the evolution of their relationship from boyfriends in college to Shin-chan's medical school and residency to their present engagement. 

Kazunari had finished packing up the living room and had moved on to the daunting task of emptying the cupboards in their kitchen. When he finished with the dishes, Takao started on the silverware drawer and was using the dining room table as a wrapping station. He worked under the light provided by a floor lamp he'd quietly moved into the room to suit his purpose. He did not want to use the overhead light, lest he wake his sleeping beauty.

He could still smell Shin-chan's expensive cologne on his own body where it had rubbed off earlier. Takao's own sweat had evaporated, his kiss-bitten lips had receded back to their normal hue, and the more delicate, sensitive parts of his skin were no longer rose-colored from the welcomed attentions visited upon them by a strong jaw clad in a scratchy, five o'clock shadow, but the deliciously heady concoction of cardamom, cumin and rosemary remained.

Distracted by his reverie over the events of earlier that evening, Takao tipped the box holding the silverware onto the dining table causing a loud clang. He cursed under his breath. 

"Did I wake you, Baby?" he asked moments later when he heard a sleepy Shin-chan walk into the room. It was a testament to how far they'd come as a couple that Takao could freely use that term of endearment without Midorima so much as batting a gorgeous eyelash at him. Of course, Midorima's own endearments for him always came in the form of "Fool" or "Idiot." 

"What are you doing up at this hour?" he groused, before stifling a yawn.

"I couldn't fall back asleep." Takao said and felt himself shiver. Shin-chan's sleep-rough voice did pleasant things to his body.

"Cold feet?" Midorima asked. The young surgeon had tried to sound casual when he'd delivered his query, but Kazunari could see the needless anxiety in Midorima's tired, gem colored eyes. 

Takao laughed. _As if._ He'd never had a moment's hesitation when it came to Midorima Shintarō. He had whatever it was that was the _opposite_ of cold feet. His tootsies were on fire. He could not _wait_ to walk down the aisle with this man. Shin-chan was his and his alone. 

He quickly put his tsundere's unfounded fears to rest with an adoring smile that came so easily to Kazunari when he looked at his partner. 

"Nah," he said softly. "Just excited about marrying you. That's all."

Midorima acted indifferent, but Takao could tell he was grateful for the added reassurance. 

"We're meant to be Shin-chan." He shuffled his slippered feet to the door frame where his very tall fiancé was standing. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. It's fate."

"Hmph. More like ill-fated."

As was often the case, Midorima's words didn't match his actions as he stooped down so Takao could place a kiss lovingly on his cheek. And when Takao tried to step back, the green-haired tsundere wrapped his arms around his fiancé just to keep him close a little while longer. 

Takao looked up at his intended with a familiar expression in his steel-blue eyes, one that said, _You're ridiculous and I love for it._

* * *

  **AN:** Sleepy Shin-chan is adorable. This chapter references events from [Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1785538/chapters/3826192) wherein Shin-chan's dad is a world-class asshat. Thanks for reading guys!


	5. Duck, Duck, Goose Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midorima and Takao trade places. Shin-chan proceeds to have the worst day ever.

**Day 5 Prompt: Partner**

Midorima woke up on the wrong side of the bed. _No_ , literally. He'd gone to bed last night on his side of the bed as customary and had somehow found himself on Takao's.

He realized it even before he'd picked up his glasses from the nightstand. As per his usual habit, he'd reached over blindly to turn off the alarm clock, except instead of his alarm clock he'd hit a warm lump to his left. 

Takao grumbled a sleepy protest, but didn't wake or so much as move from his spot. 

Midorima realized two disquieting things in that moment. First, he could see clearly. He could see really, really well, better than he'd ever been able to see in his whole life. Second, he realized that he wasn't wearing anything. Not a damn thing. He peeked under the covers and while he was greeted with a familiar sight, it wasn't at all what he'd expected to see. He knew in that moment he had positive confirmation he was not himself today.

The blood curdling scream he released into the high coffered ceiling of their master bedroom could've woken the dead. Except, it only marginally succeeded in waking Kazunari or at least what was _supposed_ to be Kazunari.

"Quiet, Shin-chan. I'm trying to sleep," his bed companion complained. The words were Kazunari's, but the voice was definitely his. 

A second blood curdling scream later and Takao was sitting upright on Shintarō's side of the bed.

He watched as Takao rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and then rubbed and rubbed and rubbed.

"Put my glasses on idiot." There may have been something different with Midorima's physical presence, but he'd kept the same bristly temperament. 

Takao laughed, but did as he was told. "Shin-chan's so funny. I didn't know you could imitate my voice so - - huh?" Takao noticed the change in his own voice too. 

Then he looked at Midorima through high-end prescription lenses. "Holy hell. I've been cloned!"

"Look down, idiot. You're fully clothed, you're pallid and you're 19 centimeters taller. There's no way you're you." He did not have time for Takao's shenanigans. There was something definitely wrong with today and to make matters worse his head was killing him. It was so painful, he felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.  

It took Takao a minute and a half to process this new information. Midorima was mentally timing it and none too patiently. ". . . I'm . . . you," the now bespectacled hawkeye slowly concluded. 

"Yeah." 

"And you're me?"

"It would appear so, yes."

"No way!" Takao sounded way too happy with the situation.

"It seems we've switched places." 

"Switched?"  

"Yes, switched. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Obviously, I'm still having a nightmare. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to throw myself off our terrace so I can wake up."

Takao wasn't even paying attention to him. He was too busy poking and prodding his new pajama-clad body. Then he pull his nightcap off. 

Midorima tried to refocus his husband's attention. "As I was _saying_. We've been switched. Now that means --" 

"Eh? Are you saying I've got Shin-chan's chin-chin?" The mischief on Kazunari's face (or rather Midorima's) would've given a ketsune a run for his money.

"I said nothing of the sort." Midorima sputtered. "And d-don't call it that. You know how I feel about you calling it that." Midorima hated that ridiculous nickname.

Takao didn't wait for his husband to finish lecturing him on the proper nomenclature for certain parts. He flung the covers off of himself and leapt off bed. "Cool! I get to wear a stethoscope around my neck and make everyone call me 'doctor' and reach up and pull things from the top cabinets. Oh, man, this is gonna awesome. I gotta find a basketball court. I'm gonna shoot three-pointers until my arms turn to jelly!"

Midorima, called out after him, "Hey! Come back here!" Takao didn't even break stride as he headed towards their _en suite_ bathroom.

"Takao!" Midorima yelled after having found the clothes Kazunari had taken off last night crumpled on the floor by the bed and putting them on (of course that idiot was physically incapable of finding the hamper). "Open the door this instant," he demanded.

He was still in the midst of incessant knocking when Takao unexpectedly opened the bathroom door. 

"Shin-chan. We _have_ to do it," he said eagerly. 

"What?" Midorima was positively scandalized. 

"C'mon. Please. _Pretty please_ , Shin-chan. It's our only chance to do it like this. Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to --" 

"Absolutely not!" Midorima could feel himself turning the color of prized azaleas in full bloom at a spring festival.

###

"Relax, Shin-chan," he said when he finally came out of his suspiciously long shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and began blow drying his now verdant strands. "I took good care of Shin-chan, Jr." 

Midorima groaned. "Don't call it that _either_." 

"All your approved names are _boring_ , Shin-chanand straight out of an anatomy textbook," the hawkeye complained.  

Midorima looked horrified at Kazunari. It was like looking into a mirror, except his 'mirror' self had a goofy smile. "Shin-chan, I'm only teasing. Besides, I won't get mad if you play with Kazu-chin too."

Shintarō finally reached the end of his short rope. "That's _it_. That topic is closed. End of discussion." 

Midorima followed Takao into their enormous walk-in-closet. Takao ignored his side of mismatched fashion atrocities and went straight to Midorima's meticulously organized to the point of borderline OCD side and pulled a crisp pair of mint green surgical scrubs from one of the built-in dresser drawers.

"Help me out here, Shin-chan. Do you typically go commando in these?"

Midorima ignored the ridiculous question. "J-just what do you think you're doing, idiot?" He sputtered. "You can't go to work. You'll kill someone." 

"I _have_ to. Trust me Shin-chan. If watching movies has taught me anything, it's that this situation will only reverse itself after we realize some deep-seated truth about each other, or some junk. In the meantime, we _have_ to live each other's lives. That's how this junk works."

Takao rummaged through Shin-chan's well-sorted sock drawer until he found suitable ones, a gag pair he'd given him with rainbows and four-leaf clovers. "That means, you'll stay here with the kids and I'm going to Shin-chan's work."

Takao smiled innocently or tried to anyway. It looked out-of-place on Midorima's normally frowny-faced visage.

###

"By the way," Takao said as he walked over to the genkan and literally stepped into his husband's shoes. "My sister's coming over later."

"What the hell for?" Midorima protested. He wasn't used to looking up at people when he was talking to them and to make matters even more surreal, he wasn't used to looking at his own face. 

Takao shrugged. "She said she had exciting news. You know Kazumi. That could mean anything."

Midorima scowled at the unwelcomed development. He barely had the patience to deal with his ditzy sister-in-law on a good day, let alone a day like today when things had already gone so horribly wrong.

"Oh and I promised Kuroko I'd pick up Nigō from the vet. They close at four, so he can't do it himself and Kagami's at the fire station today. Tetsu said he'd swing by our place after work to pick him up."

" _Wonderful_." Midorima said in a tone that sounded anything but. "What else should I know about my fun and exciting day?"

Takao paused for a moment. "There's something else too. I can't remember now. Just check my calendar. Don't forget about Nigō, Shin-chan. Otherwise, the place will close and he'll have to stay there overnight. The address is on my phone." 

"Yeah, yeah." Shintarō waved him off. It was already shaping up to be a miserable day and the sun hadn't even had the decency to come up yet.

"How come you've got all these things scheduled the one day I have to pretend to be you," Midorima groused. At least he _hoped_ it was only for a day.

Takao looked at him puzzled. "It was kind of a light day for me, actually. I was looking forward to it. Usually, you have me running around doing ten things at once."

Midorima had the good sense to look somewhat contrite. He pushed his nonexistent glasses up the bridge of his nose and Takao laughed at him.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Shin-chan?" 

"What now?" The other man barked, annoyed he was being laughed at.

"My goodbye kiss."

It felt odd standing on his tipped toes, craning his face up in order to kiss someone.

"Oi. This isn't a make-out session," he complained. "And get your hands off my ass." 

Takao made the astute observation that, "My ass feels different from your ass."

"Go, idiot. You're going to be late for _my_ job."

At least he'd convinced Takao to call his perplexed secretary and have her cancel all of today's consultations. He didn't need Takao chatting up his patients. He didn't have any surgeries lined up today and all Takao had to do was sit tight and not break anything on Midorima's desk. Shintarō knew that was a tall order. 

He did have a presentation this afternoon on his recently published paper. His audience would be other doctors. But he wasn't worried. His boss, Dr. Yamaguchi, usually did most of the talking. Fielding questions wasn't Midorima's forte. Neither were social niceties.   

Takao stifled a yawn. Clearly he wasn't used to starting his day this early. He usually woke up to see Midorima out the door, but then he got to crawl back into their warm, comfortable bed and fall back asleep. Takao's yawn was infectious and Midorima thought about doing just that. He was in no hurry to start this no good, miserable day.

"What's wrong with Nigō?" he asked because he couldn't help himself, even though he knew he was going to regret it the moment the question left his big mouth.

"Fleas. He caught them running around with some strays at the park."

" _Wonderful_ ," Midorima said, his voice dry as the desert.

Takao couldn't help but laugh. 

###

After he'd seen Takao off, Midorima went back to sleep in the hopes that when he opened his eyes again this nightmare would be over and everything would be back to normal. Or at the very least, his head wouldn't feel like he'd stuck it in a beehive. 

Sometime later, he woke up with a start when a small weight dropped none-too-gently on top of him. Midorima felt the air leave his lungs.  

"Papa!" A young, chipper voice squealed excitedly in his ear.

"Keiko, honey. Don't jump on Papa."

Maybe if he pretended to fall back asleep, she'd be a good girl and follow suit. He should be so lucky. 

"Papa!" She said in too loud a voice. "Up Papa! Morning, Papa," she continued prodding him.

"Just five more minutes, Princess. Please. Do it for Daddy. I mean Papa."

Midorima wrapped his arm around his giggling pipit and tucked her under the covers. 

"Papa!" She complained. 

"If you're very quiet, I'll buy you a - -"

Midorima didn't get to bribe his daughter into giving him five more minutes of sleep because just then his son started wailing on the baby monitor atop Takao's nightstand. Great. Now everyone was up. 

###

"Hungry, Papa!" Keiko communicated from her perch on the high chair near the breakfast bar.

"I know, I know." Midorima was searching frantically through all the cabinets looking for cookware.

The kitchen was Kazunari's domain. Midorima was hopelessly lost in it. There was even one of those tacky, novelty clocks above the refrigerator that read, "Kazunari's Kitchen." It had a short and a long chopstick for hands and the numbers on its face were cartoony vegetables. According to the radish and the ginger root, it was already 7:30 in the morning.

"I'm sorry Princess. Papa's a little slow this morning," he said trying to balance Kichiro on his hip as the infant clung to his father like a baby monkey. 

Kichiro's bottle was easy to make and the hungry infant had already dispatched it. Midorima had made it for him hundreds of times before. As long as he didn't have surgery the next day, he happily woke up at all hours of the night to attend to his children's needs. So changing diapers, chasing monsters from under the bed, and making bottles were all things he was adept at doing. But he was still a disaster in the kitchen (Mura-chin's lessons notwithstanding) and didn't know how to make much of anything else.  

"Do you have any idea where we keep the pots?" He asked his son who looked up at him with a gummy smile. Despite his tears over a wet nappy earlier, he was a happy little tyke. And Midorima couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Oh, of course you do. You just haven't learned to talk yet. I'm the only idiot who doesn't know where anything is around here."

Kichiro giggled, drooling over the fist he'd momentarily stuck in his mouth. "Baka!" he said helpfully to his father. 

Midorima hated natto, it smelled horrible. But the children (miracle of miracles) actually ate that stuff up and he wasn't blind to the fact that it was packed with nutrients. And so natto was what Takao made for breakfast for the children every morning.  

While the natto was on the stove heating up in the newly found, will-do-in-a-pinch sauté pan, Midorima decided it would be a good time to pick up the kitchen a little bit. It looked like a war zone from his earlier scavenger hunt.

###

Takao was spinning his fancy ergonomic swivel chair around in his richly appointed office twiddling his thumbs against the armrests. He had no idea what to do with himself now that Shin-chan had made his secretary cancel all his appointments.

The woman kept giving Takao the side eye considering he'd woken her from her bed with a very early morning phone call and made her clear up his day for what (to her) must've seemed like no apparent reason. He still came to work and he wasn't particularly doing anything else instead.

He'd been fiddling with a set of scans on Midorima's desk when she'd brought him his tea earlier. _Are you alright, Midorima-sama?_   She had asked. 

_Yes, why?_

_It's just you're looking at those scans upside down?_

Takao quickly flipped them around and had tried to recover. _Oh. I'm just trying to see them from a different perspective._  He grinned his dazzling, mega-watt smile at her, but the woman looked even more concerned. She'd said he was being _too_ nice to her today and it made her uneasy and left the room in a hurry.

He and Shin-chan had agreed to switch phones because neither one of them sounded like the other and it would just confuse people otherwise. When Shin-chan's cell phone buzzed on the leather blotter in front of him, Takao answered it on the first ring, jumping at the chance for something to do.   

"Just what the _hell_ is Hamster Hoedown," the tsundere demanded into the hawkeye's ear in lieu of a greeting. Judging from the panicked urgency in his voice, you'd think he'd been kidnapped by hostage-takers and was desperate to meet their demands. Takao could hear the kids wailing in the background.

He shook his head at his clueless husband. "It's a children's morning television show."

"There's no television here, we're not home."

The hawkeye glanced down at Shin-chan's fancy gold wrist-watch, a med-school graduation present from Shin-chan's fussbudget father. "What are you guys doing out so early? It's not even nine yet." Takao usually took the kids to the park or even just grocery shopping in the mornings because the stores were less crowded, but not this early. He was impressed that Shin-chan was out and about with the kids even if they were screaming bloody murder in the background. He thought for sure Shin-chan would wait until he absolutely had to go pick up Nigō to leave the house.

"There was a fire --"

"There was a _what_?!" Takao almost fell off his chair. "Oh my g--"

"A small one. It's been contained." Midorima interjected before Takao really flew off the handle.

"Is everyone alright?" Suddenly the noise in the background took a frightening turn. 

"We're fine. Everyone's fine. We're eating breakfast at a diner right now. I tried heating up natto earlier and it sort of spontaneously combusted."

Takao snickered into his phone. He could afford to laugh now that Midorima had confirmed that they all were okay. "Shin-chan you didn't."

"I did."

"It's very flammable," Midorima assured him.

"It's really not," Takao countered. 

"Anyway." Midorima did not want to quibble about minor details especially when he had to scream into the phone just to be heard. The looks he was getting from the other patrons could curdle milk. "The natto smelled horrible. But that's a given so I didn't realize something was wrong until there was all this smoke. And we need a new cooktop. I threw out your sauce pan. I'll buy you a new one. That's not important." 

"Hamster Hoe-downnnnn, Papa!" Takao could hear their daughter making demands in the background, no doubt to the delight of the other dinners and then Midorima snapping at their waitress, "Why are you taking so long with that bill." 

###

It turned out Hamster Hoedown was an inane program geared toward the preschool crowd. Its cast was made up entirely of horrid, adult-sized animatronic hamsters with no apparent familial relationship to each other living together on a generic, painted-on farm and singing way too many songs for no reason.

Of course they'd missed the live airing of the show. _Stupid waitress._ Midorima couldn't have gotten out of that restaurant fast enough.

It would've all been a catastrophe (an even bigger one) if Takao hadn't talked him down and explained they just so happened to have a DVD of the show for "emergencies" on the top shelf of their entertainment wall unit.

It turned out the children didn't know the difference between live-programming and a prerecorded show. They happily watched almost a whole 15 minutes of the show before they lost interest and started getting cranky again. They had spent more time crying about wanting to watch the show than actually watching it.  

Midorima decided it was time to give the children a bath. They'd left the house in a hurry this morning. Unforeseen circumstances had rushed them out the door once Midorima located the fire extinguisher and doused the flaming cooktop with white foam. Needless to say, they hadn't had time to make themselves presentable before heading out to breakfast. The children were still in their pajamas and Midorima was still wearing Takao's crumpled up, day-old clothing.

Bathtime he could handle, Midorima thought confidently. He often gave the children baths when he got home from work in the evenings before tucking then into bed and reading them a story. He wasn't completely inept as a father. 

After a pleasant and delightfully uneventful bathtime, Midorima encountered his next hurdle.

"No."

"Please. You have to put something on."

"No. I want Ketty-chan," Keiko pouted, folding her arms across her chest just like Daddy did when he was being stubborn.

Unlike Hamster Hoedown, Midorima knew _all_ about Ketty-chan. The ubiquitous white cat had taken over his home. There was no product Ketty-chan's shameless creators wouldn't license and so Ketty-chan's red bow and mouthless visage was stamped on almost every surface of Keiko's pink, pretty princess room.   

"This _is_  Ketty-chan. See." Midorima held up the tiny tee to his unhappy toddler.

"No," she insisted. Midorima knew what the problem was. Although he had in his possession an officially licensed, bonafide Ketty-chan t-shirt, it wasn't the one his little girl wanted to wear. The one she wanted to wear was in her hamper, because she'd worn it the day before and the day before that and the day before that. Evidently, it got laundered every day.  

He realized during the ruckus his son was being quiet, _too_ quiet.   

Kichiro was sitting on the floor of Keiko's frilly pink walk-in-closet watching his father and sister go at it with rapt attention, while gnawing on the foot of a plastic Ketty-chan doll.

Midorima pulled the toy cat out of his mouth and only succeeded in making the infant cry.

He was in the midst of soothing two despondent children when the house phone rang.

It was the security guard from the lobby. For once, he was happy to hear from the man downstairs. 

"Yes, yes. Send her right up." He spoke eagerly into receiver.

It wasn't much, but it was something. Finally, he was going to get a small break today.

###

"Yuki-kun!" Keiko squealed when the elevator doors that led to their penthouse apartment slid open and she laid eyes on their housekeeper. 

The young woman's face lit up. "Keiko-tan! Kichi-tan!" she cheerfully greeted the tots in that mock, exaggerated high-pitched tone adults often used when addressing small children and furry pets.

Midorima scrunched up his face at the infantile greeting. He hated baby talk and made it a point not to talk down to Keiko and Kichiro. He always looked like he had sucked on a lemon when others talked that way to his children, of which Aunt Satsuki was the biggest infringer. 

He was carrying his son in his arms and noticed the infant giving their housekeeper a shy smile before hiding his face in the crook of his father's neck in embarrassment. He was barely a year old and he was already besotted by older women. 

Yuki picked up Keiko-chan, who'd run up to her wearing nothing but a wide grin and her big girl pull-up pants. It was as far as Midorima had gotten in the one-sided game of dress up he was obviously losing.

The toddler was clearly happy to see Yuki. "You've grown," she told a delighted Keiko and the little girl held her head up proudly preening every last centimeter of her height. 

Midorima rolled his eyes at the ridiculous woman at the entrance to their home. There was no way Keiko could've grown any perceptible amount in size in such a short period of time. But never mind that, he had more pressing matters to attend to. 

"Well. It's half past eleven. You're three and a half hours late, but I supposed I should be grateful you showed up at all. You're here now and under the circumstances, I'm willing to overlook your extreme tardiness. Don't expect this courtesy again."

"Are you feeling alright Kazu-san? You're not yourself today. You seem grouchy."

"I'm fine. I just have a headache." Midorima wasn't lying about the cephalalgia, at least. Once again he pinched the bridge of his nose before belatedly remembering he wasn't wearing his glasses (he'd been doing that all day).   

She wasn't moving, so he took the woman's handbag off her shoulder and hung it up for her at the entrance. "Well, don't just stand there. You've got work to do. There was a mishap in the kitchen earlier. You can start there. When you're done scraping the burnt natto off the glass cooktop, you can wash the clothes. Keiko needs her Ketty-chan t-shirt. So it's best you do her laundry first."

Midorima noticed his son peeking through his pudgy fingers as Shintarō approached the housekeeper. The little flirt. He took Keiko-chan from the woman so she could get started on her chores. 

Yuki looked at him like he'd misplaced his head. "Oh no, don't play innocent with me. You know I don't do windows _or laundry_. Besides, that stick-in-the-mud husband of yours fired me last week."

"I did? I, I mean he _did_?" Now that she'd mentioned it, this all sounded vaguely familiar. Midorima shifted the children at each hip. 

"Yup. I'm just here for you to sign off on my hours." She reached into the kelly green purse hanging from the hook at the entrance and pulled out a ballpoint pen with a chewed up cap and a none-too-neatly folded piece of paper that looked like a cow had used it for cud. 

"The agency said they're not sending anyone else over," she told him by way of small talk while Midorima signed her time card. He couldn't make heads or tails of her chicken scratch. He wasn't even sure those were numbers she'd scribbled on it. "Nobody wants to work for that green-haired tyrant."

"Is that so?"   

"Oh yes. No one likes him. Thank you for recommending me to my new employer, Kazu-san. He's _so_ dreamy." There was a sparkle in her eye when she said that. And just then Midorima realized how very young she was. She must've been in her early twenties, probably no older than Shuzuko. And she was pretty. No wonder his son was making googly eyes at her. How the heck did he agree to hire  _her_?

Keiko-chan quickly grew bored of the adults' discourse and made Papa put her down so she could go play by kicking him in the quadriceps, but Kichiro stayed put. He remained enraptured by the storyteller.

"He's hardly ever home," she prattled on excitedly "so I haven't _actually_ met him yet. But he keeps so many photographs of himself, I feel like I know him already." She'd said that like it was a good thing. 

She was gushing like a school girl, which she practically was. "He lives in a gorgeous bachelor pad," she said admiringly. Did this temptress color her hair? Did she always have such striking blue eyes? Did Takao like blue eyes?

Oblivious to the many daggers the married father of two was glaring at her with, Yuki continued with her chatter. "A former model and an airline pilot. Can you imagine anything more glamorous?"

Midorima could list hundreds of things more glamorous than the whiny subject of their conversation. 

"And the best part is, I don't actually have to do any work. You know, cause he's not there to dirty the place up. I can't wait to meet him in person. I bet he's real manly," she squealed. 

"I don't know where you go that impress --"  

Midorima was rudely interrupted by Takao's obnoxious phone. He needed to find a way to change that embarrassing J-pop ring tone.

He reached into his pocket and answered the call.

"Moshi moshi." It was Takao's editor. "Just a moment," he said. 

He handed his son to Yuki-kun which was where the infant wanted to go anyway and headed to the relatively quiet sanctuary of Takao's home office. 

The room was predictably a wreck. It was the only area in their pristine residence where Midorima hadn't been able to instill his OCD-like orderliness. There were papers strewn everywhere, pictures of them as a family, the children's art projects in various stages of completion, and color-coded reminder stickies from Midorima clinging to the large, floor-to-ceiling window. 

Thankfully, Takao's laptop was still plugged into its docking station, next to a framed photograph of their freshman year Shūtoku basketball team. Midorima easily logged into Takao's account. He didn't have to even guess at a password. Kazu always used hawkboy610 for everything. He quickly scanned the pending posts in the queue and saw the article Takao had written.

Midorima's head was still throbbing. He knew Takao had stayed up until the wee hours last night writing his column, but had he also raided the liquor cabinet? Had he been pounding tequila shots after every paragraph? Because he felt like he was in the throes of a massive hangover. 

The article was a feature on Kaijō's new small forward. The kid was supposed to be phenomenal. Takao had told Midorima as much and he'd wanted to show him the game footage later. Even though he and his spouse only played occasionally in a recreational league now, they had both remained passionate about the sport that had brought them together and Midorima had a genuine interest in Takao's work. "Yes. It's in the queue. It's slated to post at two."

The tsundere didn't know why he was so nervous talking to Takao's editor. Maybe it was because Kazu always took his job very seriously, even though he'd been relegated to working remotely, a few hours a week now that he stayed home with the children. He wouldn't have left the house this morning without making sure his article was fit for publication.

"You want to move the publishing deadline to accommodate the lunch-time web traffic? Alright. I'll post it now." Midorima hung up with Takao's boss and pushed the post button. While he was in the room, he took a few minutes to tidy up Takao's desk. He couldn't help himself. It was a mess. He was about to close Takao's laptop when he noticed he'd already gotten a comment. 

Curious to see what someone had to say about Takao's article, he clicked on it. To his unfailing disappointment, it was that idiot Ryōta. That eternal thorn on his side. "Takaocchi's writing about my alma mater. Go Blue Elites, Kaijō High School!!"

Midorima could practically hear Kise's obnoxious, excited squeal leaping from the pixelated screen. He was surprised that blonde bubble head even knew words like 'alma mater.' Annoyed, he fired off a quick reply - - "Go die!" - - before heading back to the living room to deal with Yuki.  

Yuki-kun had somehow managed to coax Keiko into wearing clothes. Even if it was her fairy princess costume from when they took the children to the summer festival and not actual clothes, Midorima still considered it progress. She had also plopped both children onto the plush, shag carpet in the living room and put on the same episode of Hamster Hoedown for them to watch. _Did everyone know about this magical, child-taming DVD?_  

Midorima didn't normally approve of his children watching television. But Takao wasn't here and he appreciated that for the first time since this morning's show, the only sounds he heard from said children were pleasant giggles and the occasional chortle. It was music to Midorima's well-trained ear.

Shintarō considered the possibility that perhaps he'd been a little too harsh on Yuki-kun. After all, she'd adeptly handled his children, a feat he hadn't a clue how to even begin to accomplish. They didn't need a nanny. Given his own impersonal upbringing, Shintarō was dead-set against it. Even the thought made him bristle. But it was evident that Kazu could use the extra help around the house. It wasn't easy to manage such a large home and keep two very small children fed, cleaned, and happy. Midorima hadn't even managed one of the three. 

"Yuki-kun," he began. "Why don't we give this another try. You call the agency and tell them you're staying and I'll talk to my husband tonight." 

The young woman snorted. "Are you kidding? You want me to come back here and work for that man?"

"Why not? What's wrong with him?"

"Well, for starters he's obsessed with cleanliness." 

"How would you even know? You're not around when he's home." Midorima pointed out defensively. 

"He leaves me sticky notes every morning. 'Clean this, clean that, you left spots on the silverware, you forgot to dust the chandelier' Ugh! That man is impossible." She waived her arms around excitedly to emphasize her point. "Everywhere sticky notes. All in that ridiculously perfect penmanship of his. At first I thought he was printing them out until I realized that was his actual handwriting.  _Who even writes like that?_ Isn't he supposed to be a doctor?" 

"Maybe he's just trying to be helpful," Midorima suggested. 

"Humph. He's trying to be a pain in my heinie.

"It's an instruction." 

"It's an illness." 

"Oh really? And which medical school did you graduate from?" Midorima asked hotly. 

"I don't need a medical degree. It's obvious. It's obvious to anyone who spends more than five minutes in the same room with him. I don't know why you live with that sourpuss," Yuki-kun remarked.

"Excuse me?"

"You're gorgeous and hot and such a nice guy, Kazu-san. Well, at least when you don't have a headache. I could find you someone better. Someone like that dreamboat you referred me to."

"Out. Get out."

###

Now that he'd gotten rid of Yuki-kun, _again_ , he decided to tackle the laundry. There was a small, but well-appointed laundry room off the large kitchen, just past the walk-through butler's pantry. Admittedly it wasn't a room Midorima frequented. Evidently Takao did their laundry. He concluded as much from Yuki's refusal to do it herself.

Midorima hadn't devoted much thought to doing laundry because his clothes had always miraculously been cleaned, folded and put in their proper drawers or hangers. It had always been that way back when he lived at his parents' house and then when he and Takao moved in together for college, he'd used a laundry service. He thought of all the stickies on Takao's window and how he'd been the catalyst for most of them. There had been dry-cleaning receipts, requests that the hawkeye pick up a certain wine for dinner or notes about taking his shoes to be resoled at the cobbler's scattered on Takao's desk and he started feeling those stirrings of guilt again.

When Midorima opened the cupboards above their matching washer and dryer, he was faced with options. Lots and lots of options. They had fabric softener and dryer sheets and these liquid gel caps he'd never seen before, but assumed had detergent in them. Midorima wasn't sure how many of those little pods to use, but they seemed very small so he dropped a handful into the tub of the washer before closing the lid.  

After he'd inadvertently made natto flambé this morning, Midorima had learned his lesson and left cooking to the professionals. Determined not to have any more domestic hiccups, he ordered lunch for the three of them from a nearby Korean restaurant Takao liked. He marveled at how affordable the lunch menu was when the spare yen they kept in a bowl atop the credenza in the genkan was enough to pay for the food and tip the driver.

He and the children finished their meals in the kitchen. Keiko and Kichiro squealed delightedly when they saw the sudsy water flowing into the room. They loved playing with all the bubbles Papa had made.

###

Midorima had just finished putting the children down in the master bedroom for their afternoon nap and was about to mop up the flood that had started in the laundry room and had made its way to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

He knew it was Kazumi because their doorman always let her up without calling first on account of her being both  _family_ and a shameless flirt, which Midorima found doubly irritating. 

"I quit my job," she announced gleefully. She was beaming like she'd accomplished some great feat. As far as Midorima could tell, Kazumi had never made a good decision in her life and her track record was still intact.

"You did _what_?! Have you lost your mind?" She was still putting her things away in the genkan when he physically turned her around and marched her towards the elevator. "Quick. Go beg for it back, maybe it's not too late." 

She dug in her 4-inch designer stiletto heels (paid for in twelve monthly installments over three credit cards) in protest and Midorima cringed at what that was doing to his polished floors. "Kazu-nii," she whined. Annoyed at whom she thought was her brother. "You  _said_  you'd be supportive," she reminded him. "I thought you'd be happy for me. You know I was miserable at that job. You were always saying I should do something about it."  

"That does sound like the ill-considered, scatterbrained advice I habitually dispense," Midorima conceded.

He noticed she actually looked presentable today. Ever since her love life took an abrupt nose dive into a bottomless ravine, Kazumi had been haunting her parents' couch in stained, faded gray sweatpants and subsisting on pints of ice cream. But today, she was wearing new clothes. She'd gotten her hair cut and her nails done. "When I said I'd be supportive of you, did I mean with money?" 

Kazumi ignored the ridiculous question either because it was completely off the mark or on target. "You remember Mei-kun, right? My friend from middle school. The one who had that huge crush on you." Midorima had never heard of such a person, but he instantly hated her for crushing on Kazunari. "I ran into her the other day in the frozen food aisle at the supermarket. It turns out she moved back in with her parents too. Well, she's good with words. She sends sternly written e-mails to companies all the time and they send her back coupons and free merchandise." 

"Uhhuh." Midorima had no idea where Kazumi was going with all this.

"And I'm good at drawing - -" 

" _You're_ good at drawing? You?" This was news to him. Kazumi used to like to scribble on the front cover of her notebooks in middle school -- she'd write her name and Midorima's name together and decorate them with little hearts - - but he wouldn't say she was particularity _good_ at anything. 

"Mom always said I was a natural talent," she proudly reminded him. Kazunari and Kazumi's mother was one of those parents who was firmly in their children's corner, no matter how ridiculous that corner was. "That's why she said in middle school, I didn't even need lessons." The woman was also practical. Unlike her children, she had both feet planted on the ground and was grounded in reality. 

"Mei and I are going to sell homemade greeting cards over the internet," she announced grandly.

Midorima looked at her like she was insane because clearly she was. ". . . And you've researched this? You've found a market?" He prodded gently, hoping she'd see the glaring error of her ways.

"Market? Pfft! You sound like that egg-head husband of yours."

Midorima struggled to keep his tongue firmly bitten. It was a herculean task given that Kazumi really was a moron. He settled for scowling at her instead. As he so often found himself doing when she was around, he mentally counted to ten and prayed for patience before speaking again. "Well, did you at least talk to a lawyer about setting up your company?"

"A lawyer?" Kazumi laughed. "What for? Kazu, I'm starting a business, not a lawsuit."

While he was trying to explain to Kazumi the gaping flaws in her decision-making process and why one should not give up one's steady paycheck simply because one stumbled upon a kindred spirit between the gelato and the sherbet in the grocer's freezer, he forced himself to limit the scope of their conversation to just today's miscues. He still hadn't picked up Nigō. He couldn't spare the time for a more in-depth analysis on why every instinct she'd ever had in her entire life had been wrong. _Every single one._

To compound his problems, he got a text from Kazu who'd just remembered what that third thing he had to do today was. He had reminded Midorima to check his calendar before leaving to work that morning. Of course, Midorima hadn't. He'd been distracted putting out actual and metaphorical fires.

Takao was supposed to meet up with Midorima's mother to drop off a box of invitations to a gala fundraiser the following month benefiting the neurology department. Because Midorima's life wasn't complicated enough, Takao and Sazuna were both on the same hospital fundraising committee. Takao was on it because it was important to him to contribute in his own way to his husband's causes. Midorima's mother was on it because it gave her something to do. Takao had purchased the invitations in question for a good price from a guy Kise knew in a less than reputable part of town Sazuna had probably never heard of and most certainly would not have set her well-heeled feet in. Kazu was going to hand off the invites to Sazuna who was going to take them to a high-class calligrapher she knew for a price-per-character Takao would've most certainly balked at in a tony part of town Takao only ever went to when familial and social obligations required that he and Midorima meet up with Midorima's parents for dinner. They made an odd-pairing, Midorima's mother and Midorima's husband, but so far their mismatched collaboration was working out at least for party planning purposes. 

The box of invitations were, like so many other things, sitting on Takao's desk. As far as Shintarō was concerned, the Loch Ness monster and the Missing Link (certainly his missing cufflinks) could've been found on Takao's messy desk.

Midorima took advantage of Kazumi's presence and the fact that she had no job to go back to and left her in charge of the house. She may have been a train wreck, but she was also one of the few people he trusted enough to leave his children in their care. He couldn't say that about his own mother. As long as Kazumi was here anyway, she could watch the kids while he paid the world's quickest visit to the woman who birthed him and picked up the world's most annoying dog.

Although the children were sound asleep for now, they'd be up from their nap by the time he got back. "They like Hamster Hoedown," Midorima said smugly, eager to show off his newly acquired and hard-earned knowledge. "It's a children's television show," he added.

"Pfft! Who doesn't? I love that show. It's still the third DVD on the top shelf, right? 

"Well, yes - -" Midorima cleared his throat in annoyance. _Stupid, know-it-all Kazumi_ ,he muttered under his breath as he picked up Takao's car keys and left.

He hoped the children behaved themselves for Aunt Kazumi. And more importantly that they didn't pick up any of her bad traits.

###

Predictably Takao's car was a pig sty, at least by Midorima's exacting standards. There was a styrofoam cup of instant noodle soup in one of the cupholders from what had undoubtedly been a meal on the run, Ketty-chan stickers and bits of toys everywhere, a festival mask of (who else, Ketty-chan) left over from this past summer, what he hoped was an empty sippy cup laying on its side on the leather rolling around between the children's car seats, scuff marks left by tiny saddle shoes kicking the back of Papa's seat, and the remnants of a melted, strawberry lollipop pasted to the wood trim panel of one of the passenger doors. This did not look like a luxury import. It looked like the inside of a clown car. He had half a mind to take it to the car wash and have it detailed if he wasn't already racing against the clock and also couldn't even begin to guess as to where Takao got their cars detailed.

He had the invitation box in hand and had just handed the car keys over to the trusty valet who'd quickly barreled away like he was driving a race car on a speedway, when his phone rang. 

"Midorima Kazunari?" the shy voice on the other end of the call sounded hopeful.

"No. I mean,  _yes_. What do you want?"

"Um. Y-you left your wallet at the Pancake Sugar Shack, sir."

He was about to argue with the woman that he didn't dine in places named after what sounded like unsafe structures made of cavity-inducing confectionery flapjacks, when he remembered this morning's incendiary mishap. Midorima instinctively felt his pocket even though he knew it would be empty.  _Fuck._

"Please pardon the intrusion, sir." The young girl continued. "We waited all day for someone to claim the wallet. It was only after no one did that we looked inside it. We got your number from a business card, but the family name on your credit cards is different."

"That's because I stubbornly refuse to use my married name at work," Midorima explained irritably. In Takao's defense, he _had_ been writing his column under that byline for years.  

"Pardon me?" She was thoroughly bewildered. Midorima was not a patient man and found the girl's politeness grating. He'd already been in a foul mood about having to see his mother, and that was _before_ he found out he didn't even have a wallet. If Kuroko hadn't settled his vet bill, Midorima was going to leave the damn dog there.

"Never mind that," he said resigned to his fate. "What time do you close?"

"Providing pancakes to our patrons is our utmost priority, sir. We're a 24-hour establishment." She sounded like she was reading from a script.   

### 

His mother was at her usual table at the rooftop restaurant of her favorite Ginza department store.

"Kazunari-kun," she greeted as he bowed respectfully before placing the box of invitations on the table's starchy white cloth. "You didn't bring the children with you." She observed, sounding deeply disappointed.

Midorima looked at her like she was a complete stranger.

"You always bring them here. They like to run around on the terrace." She gestured behind her and Midorima looked through the glass double doors which led to the small roof-top garden outside the restaurant.

There were a dozen small children chasing each other around the circular wooden walkway of the garden. Although the heavy doors effectively muffled the noise outside, he knew they were cheerfully making a racket outside. He could easily picture Keiko and Kichiro playing out there among the other children and although he always complained about Takao being noisy, it never bothered him when his children were.

He hadn't realized Kazunari took their own children here or that meeting his mother at this restaurant was apparently a thing they did together. He remembered coming here when he was a preschooler and playing out on the same terrace under his nanny's watchful gaze. By the time Shuzuko was born, he'd been told he was too old to play there and he'd stare out enviously at the younger children while he properly sat with his mother inside at the table much like he was doing now. 

"Sit down. You're just in time for tea. I've already ordered for you," she said in the self-confident tone of a woman who wasn't used to being told "no" often. She adjusted the linen napkin on her lap when the waiter brought them a three-tiered stand of scones. 

Midorima sighed dramatically at his mother's presumptions, but did as he was told. "I'm short on time, Mother, I have to  - -"

"Mother?"

"I-I mean Sazuna-san." It was really weird addressing her with an honorific, even if it was in Takao's voice.

"No, no. It's just you've never called me 'Mother' before. I suppose it's alright. We've known each other for quite some time. You may continue to do so, if you'd like."

Midorima panicked. Takao was going to kill him if he had to address Sazuna as "Mother" from now on. "My apologies. I meant to say Mother-in-Law. It won't happen again." 

"I ordered the cucumber and cream cheese tea sandwiches you like. They'll be out shortly," she informed him.

Midorima felt like he'd stepped into a parallel universe and not for the first time today. Who was this woman and just how chummy had Takao gotten with his mother. They used to not get along at all. They used to be oil and water. He could only guess as to the impetus for this shift in their relationship. Takao now had something his mother wanted if the inquiry about the children was any indication.

When the rest of their meal came, Midorima unthinkingly poured the tea for them in the interest of moving things along.

He was placing the teapot back on its burner when his mother commented, "I must say, Kazunari-kun. I'm impressed. Has Shintarō been giving you lessons?"

Midorima had forgotten that very few people could do what he had effortlessly just done. He'd been trained in the art of tea since he was a boy and knew all the complicated maneuvers that went along with a proper tea ceremony to the point where he no longer had to think about it, it was just muscle memory now.

"Something like that," he muttered.

"How is Shintarō these days?" she inquired as if he were a long lost relative. Midorima knew his mother well and knew exactly what she was getting at. He bristled at the implication that he didn't visit her often enough. 

"He was just at your house yesterday," he reminded her. He'd gone there after work to play shogi with his father, as he sometimes did. It was a custom that was born a few years back when Midorima's father had suffered a heart attack and had been recovering at home. 

Shintarō had also seen his mother during yesterday's visit. They had even had an exchange during which she complained about what the new gardener had done to her prized rose bushes and about his sister not returning her phone calls, in order of priority.

"Yes, but he was there to visit his father. He wasn't there to visit me." 

Midorima was about to point out that both his parents lived in the same residence so he'd actually visited both of them when Sazuna leaned in close as if she were about to divulge an enormous secret to the man she thought was Kazunari. "My therapist thinks my son is punishing me. That's why Shintarō won't put me on his hoity-toity 'list' of approved sitters. He's withholding the children." She had used air quotes around the word "list," but he did keep an actual, physical list. 

"That's preposterous," Midorima said defensively. He pointedly ignored the stack of unwanted cucumber tea sandwiches that she kept piling onto his plate. "Your therapist is a fraud. That's an honorary doctorate on his wall, by the way. He didn't actually go to medical school." 

"No, he's right. Shuzuko too. You know, last month I purposely didn't pay her light bill just so I could get her to call me when they shut it off."

"That's terrible," Midorima declared and Sazuna mistook his meaning for sympathy.

"I know. That's what they've reduced me too, Kazunari-kun. The lengths I have to go through just to hear from my own children."

"Well maybe if you'd been around more when --" 

Midorima got his short fuse from his mother and though she'd been primly raised to politely repress it, it was starting to show and tempers were starting to flare on both sides of the table. "I don't know what Shintarō has told you, but - -"

"Everything. I know everything - - ' 

"Yes but, he has always favored his father. It's been that way since he was a little boy. He hero-worshiped Shinzo. He wanted to become a doctor before he'd could even read just so he could be like him. He naturally takes his father's side." 

"It's not taking sides. It's expecting more from you. He was always off gallivanting with some secretary or nurse. He was never home, but _you_ were. And then you left. You left an infant and a ten-year-old to fend for themselves - - "

"They had their nannies - -" 

"You were their mother. You didn't even say if you were coming back and when Nanny Hamasaki had to leave to visit her own family, she had to track you down. You were at a spa in Hokkaido and you told her she should take your children with her." 

Midorima had snapped and suddenly everything he'd ever wanted to say to his mother since childhood, every slight and every gripe was coming out entirely unbidden from Takao's big mouth. "And another thing. You never once went to a single one of our basketball games. When we were defeated freshman year, I was crushed. I came home crying and you thought I had been upstairs in my room the whole time. You didn't even know I had a game that night."

But it wasn't just words coming out. Oh,  _no_. That wasn't all. It got worse. It got much, much worse. To his horror his cheeks were starting to feel wet. He was crying.  _Oh fuck._ Did being trapped in Takao's body mean he was going to be an emotional oversharer for the rest of his life?  Was he turning into Kazunari? 

The chair he'd been sitting in made a jarring noise as it scraped across the freshly polished floor. He stood abruptly. It would have been much more intimidating if he'd had his full height. He gathered his bearings, willed his voice not to wobble and said, "I have to go now."

His mother for once in her life had been stunned into silence. Her eyes rivaled the tea saucers on the table. And when she finally spoke, in typical Midorima Sazuna fashion she ignored the real problem. "Already? But you haven't touched your sandwiches. Where are you going?"

"I have to see a man about a dog." It sounded made up even to his own ears. Midorima quickly departed. Takao's shorter legs couldn't carry him away from his humiliation fast enough.

The elevator was blessedly empty and he shot off a short, terse text to his sister  --  CALL YOUR MOTHER!!! -- as he tried to get his emotions in check on the ride down.

He got as far as the shoe department on the ground floor when -- _Fuck_ \- - he had to swallow his considerable pride and retrace his footsteps back up to the roof top restaurant. 

"Sazuna-san." The name still sounded weird in his mouth. "I need to borrow some money."

###

Midorima was on Takao's phone carrying Nigō. He was holding the dog one-handed and as far away from his body as Takao's shorter arms would permit. The dumb mutt was wearing one of those "cones of shame" to prevent him from scratching himself and he smelled like a chemical factory. It was both reassuring and repulsive. He hoped that vet got every last one of those parasites because he was starting to itch under his own collar. He prayed it was just psychosomatic and not actual fleas.

He couldn't _wait_ to unload his quarry, except fate (or Kuroko) had other plans. "I don't care if you have a parent-teacher conference, come pick up your fleabag."

He was hoofing it back to Takao's car. He'd left it in some back alley and had hoped for the best. He didn't have enough money to valet it again after he'd paid the valet at the restaurant and the city lots near the vet were all full.

He didn't have time to look for suitable parking further out because as it was he'd been five minutes late to the vet, earning the ire of the receptionist who had stayed behind because of him. Takao never mentioned what a pain in the ass it was to have a car in Tokyo when you had less than 10,000 yen left in your pocket. Thank goodness the smallest denomination in his mother's purse was a 5,000 yen note or he wouldn't even have that.

To make matters worse Nigō, who could hear Kuroko's voice on the phone, was squirming towards it, trying to lick it (never mind that the damned cone was in his way) while Midorima was making every effort to keep the dumb dog at bay.

For once, Kuroko actually seemed concerned. "Are you alright, Takao-kun? You don't sound like yourself." 

"Of course I'm not myself, idiot. I'm - -" Midorima had started to say, before he realized what he was _about_ to say and quickly shut up. 

In his struggle to keep a fidgety Nigō away from the phone, Midorima dropped the mobile, effectively terminating his conversation with Kuroko. "Great. Now look what you've done," he said to the mongrel.

He'd dropped it where he was walking, in a dirty back alley near the trash bins of an apparently very busy Korean restaurant judging from the familiar scent of kimchi emanating from the overflowing receptacles. He was half-tempted to just let the phone go and buy a new one just as soon as he recovered Takao's wallet or got his hands on his own.

He would have done just that, written it off as a lost cause, if he didn't also need it to call Kuroko back and see if he could drop his pooch off with that idiot firefighter at the station. Fire stations traditionally had dalmatians, right? He didn't see why Nigō would be any different. He certainly didn't want to bring the mangy mutt home where his children would surely want to play with him. He also needed the phone because he had every intention of calling Kazunari and bitching about what a miserable life he was leading.

 _There's hand sanitizer in the front console_ , he kept telling himself, chanting it like a mantra as he squatted down to pick up the phone. He was going to douse it alcohol and then call Kuroko.

As he lowered one arm to gab the phone, he lifted Nigō up with the other to keep the pup off the ground. No sense getting two things dirty. There may have been some truth to Yuki-kun's accusations about his obsession with cleanliness because he couldn't bear to look down. As he wrapped his long fingers around the object in question, he felt something furry, wriggly, and decidedly mammalian. It wasn't Takao's ridiculous glittery pink jelly phonecase (Kazu had let Keiko pick it) in his left hand. He'd pick up a rat.

"Ahh!" He dropped both the dog and the rat in an instant of raw, primitive panic and visceral disgust. Predictably, the dog ran after the rat chasing it to the end of the block, before turning the corner.

"Wait! Come back here you stupid mutt, wait. Wait for me!"

 ###

Midorima was equal parts relived and dismayed at having finally caught to Nigō. 

If Midorima had been reluctant to transport that mutt before, when all he smelled like was flea dip, he was even more unwilling to do it now that Nigō no longer had any white patches on his coat. He had rolled around in half a dozen filthy back alley trash bins before Midorima had finally caught up to him. Midorima had to remove the dog cone just to free up the garbage and scraps of day-old produce that had collected in there. 

Nigō smelled like death. _No_ , really. The delightful scent of rotting kitchen carcasses clung to his matted-down, disgusting fur. And if he got fleas again from that stupid, no good rat or from rolling around in trash bins, Midorima was going to shoot him through the neatest outdoor basketball hoop and leave him there. 

At least one thing was going right, he thought when he _finally_ made it back to Takao's car. Although he'd parked illegally, it was still there waiting to take him away from this awful, smelly back alley. It hadn't been towed or stolen or even scratched. Thank goodness for small miracles. The way his day was going, he'd half expected it to be gone. 

Midorima rummaged through Takao's equally messy trunk and found a gym bag (from three weeks ago, when the hawkeye last played in their league) in which to transport Nigō. The scent of Takao's dirty gym socks only added to the odoriferous bouquet surrounding the both of them, _eau de back alley trash bins_.

He placed Nigō on the floor of the front passenger seat and left the bag's top zipper partially open so the dog could breathe, but not so open that he could get out. Shintarō did not need Nigō running around freely rubbing himself all over the carpet and leather seats while he was trying to drive. 

Now that he'd gotten Nigō settled, Midorima got into the driver's seat, put his seat belt on, checked his mirrors and proceeded to start the car. He shifted the gear into reverse and heard the unmistakable, jarring sound of scraping metal when he tried to back up. Fearful, he'd run something over, he moved the car forward only to hear the same grating noise. The clatter even startled Nigō who yipped in surprise from inside the bag.

Panicked that he had hit something and was now dragging it, Midorima looked at the rear view camera first and then checked his mirrors, but there was no obstruction. Alarmed, he got out of the car to see what had caused that horrible noise. There were two things that caught his eye. One was the bright yellow boot clamped onto the back tire on the driver's side. The other was the deep, circular, gash around the fender of Takao's car. Not only had he scraped the obsidian black paint off, but he'd left behind a deep groove from the back and forth rotation of the metal boot against the car's back panel.

The string of obscenities that fell from Midorima's mouth did not bear repeating. Even Nigō howled in protest and he lived with Kagami.

###

He had no idea if dogs were allowed on trains, because he wasn't someone who used the Tokyo metro to get around (or someone who had a dog for that matter). The last time he was in one of these metal contraptions was in high school and Takao was with him because he certainly wouldn't have done it on his own.

He prayed Nigō would stay quiet as he crossed the train station carrying Takao's gym bag on his shoulder. He'd called Kazu (from his now disinfected cell) who'd walked him through the convoluted steps of purchasing a train ticket from an automated kiosk. He'd cleared the gates and easily found an empty seat on the train. The other commuters were giving him a wide-breadth because his effusive scent was absolutely horrid. 

Midorima was sitting in his seat waiting for the next stop so he could switch lines at Tokyo Station, per Kazu's instructions. He found himself with some unexpected free time and decided to read the article he'd posted for Takao earlier.

To his surprise there were over four hundred comments on the article. But the vast majority of them were not about the article. They were about his response to Kise Ryōta. _Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit Shit._ He (or rather Takao) was being flamed by Kise's rabid fan girls. _Fuck._ He knew what this job meant to Kazunari and if he got him in trouble with work he wouldn't forgive himself.

He wasn't sure if it was the anxiety over possibly getting his husband fired from a job he loved, but Midorima's head was hurting now more than ever. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. 

The train was pulling into the next station and Midorima only had moments to pick up Nigō and exit, but he had to call Kazunari and explain. He had no idea what he was going to say to Takao or Takao's editor, but he had to find a way to fix this.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe in the sports publishing world there was no such thing as bad publicity. The hits count was certainly through the roof.

"Kazu," he said. He felt his stomach drop to his feet as he got up from his seat. He grabbed one of the poles at the center of the train, he was seeing double. "Kazu, I need to speak with you."  

"Hey Shin-chan. I can't talk right now. I'm getting ready to walk into the press-room for the presentation."

"Kazu. I really messed up." Something Takao said gave him pause. "The press-room? Hey, Kazu. Watch your head, there's a really low -- "    

###

Midorima opened his eyes and saw blurry lights on a tiled ceiling above him. He was laying down, in a hospital gown, and had an IV attached to his arm. 

"Are you feeling alright?" Takao handed him his glasses. Concern was written all over the hawkeye's handsome face.

"It worked!" Midorima declared excitedly until he realized his head was still pounding and talking loudly wasn't helping him. 

"What worked?"

"You're you and I'm me?"

"Uh-huh," Takao said slowly. 

"We switched back," he announced triumphantly.

"What was that now?"

His explanations weren't getting through to the hawkeye. 

And then he came to his senses and panicked. "If you're here, where are the children?!" He demanded, grabbing the shorter man by the collar.

"Relax, Shin-chan." Takao gingerly extricated his shirt from  his husband's tight grip. "They're with my parents."

Midorima sucked in air loudly. "You left them with my parents?!"

" _My_  parents, Shin-chan. _Mine_. Grandma and Grandpa Takao. Just try to ease up for me, alright?" He fluffed the pillow behind the tsundere and gently pushed him back into it. "I brought an overnight bag. I'm not leaving your sight. It's okay. Everything's okay."

Midorima allowed himself to be tucked back into his hospital bed now that he knew the kids were in good care.

And then Takao thought of something. "Hey, Shin-chan, do you know what day it is?"

"Friday." He must've answered correctly because Takao gave a little sigh of relief.

"And do you know who I am? " He asked apprehensively.

"Of course." Midorima was getting annoyed now. "You're my idiot husband. Now, why are you asking me such stupid questions," he demanded. 

Takao laughed. "Yup, it's definitely you in that noggin," he said, caressing the side of Midorima's head with utmost care. 

"Why am I here," he asked, gesturing to the room.

"You hit your head."

"I did?" Well that explained the persistent, pounding headache which before now, he'd only ever associated with the morning after a night of drinking with Kise (or rather _because_ of Kise).

"Yeah. You got a bump and everything. But don't worry,  Dr. Yamaguchi was here earlier. He looked at your scans. He said you're fine. They're just keeping you overnight for observation. 

"But how?"

"You were getting ready to walk into the hospital press-room which has that low --"

"Yeah, I know the one. I always duck."

"Well this time you didn't duck and now you've got a goose egg." Takao laughed at his own joke. "But don't worry, that fringe you've been sporting since the day I met you covers it up."

Midorima narrowed his pretty green eyes. "Is this your way of telling me my haircut it outdated?"

"Well . . . ." Takao let the word hang between them.  He was clearly aiming for humor. 

Midorima ignored his attempt at being funny, he had more pressing things on his mind. No, really. This bandage around his head was wrapped too tightly. 

"That makes no sense. I'm in that room all the time, after every big surgery, and especially now that my paper's been published." He was supposed to deliver a presentation to other physicians there this afternoon. "I still don't understand how I didn't --"

"The thing is Shin-chan, you were distracted."

"I was?"

"Yeah." Takao rubbed the back of his own head. "You were on the phone. With me." Kazunari at least had the decency to look sheepish. 

Midorima sighed in defeat. "Well of course it figures you'd - -" Midorima started to rant, but then he stopped himself. He thought about his dream and all the things Takao did for him, for their family -- day in, day out with no complaint. And the thing was Kazunari actually liked it.  And he was really good at it too. "Kazu, thank you for taking such good care of our children and me. I couldn't have asked for a better partner."

Takao laughed, but his eyes were starting to water. "You definitely hit your head, alright," he said. Then he leaned over and kissed his tsundere. 

* * *

 **AN1:**   You can read a continuation of this chapter [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4664187/chapters/14540869). Ahh! This one got away from me in the word count department. It's over 11,000 words. I tried to finish it for MidoTaka Week, but I just couldn't get it done in time. On the other hand yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my [You're The One](http://archiveofourown.org/series/123243) series, so I'm kind of happy I'm still writing about these two idiots a year later. Even though MidoTaka Week ended on Saturday, I still plan to finish the two remaining prompts. Hopefully, I can get to them this week.   

 **AN2:** So the plot for this one was loosely based on the old Freaky Friday movie from the 70s. This was my first attempt at a body swap fic and I know the "it was all a dream" trope has been done before, but I needed a way to keep it "realistic." Hope you liked it. I figured Shin-chan would be one of those clueless husbands who hasn't the foggiest idea what his better half does all day long. Oh and about all those lame jokes in the beginning, I figured Takao would be the kind of guy to make up all sorts of ridiculous nicknames for certain body parts just to tease his prim and proper husband and ruffle his prissy feathers. 

Thanks for reading and for kudos and bookmarks! If you can, please leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you.

I'm also posting these on my [tumblr](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/). 


	6. Roomer Has It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao has senioritis. Shin-chan has other plans.

**Day 6 Prompt: Future**

Midorima Shintarō was far smarter than Takao could ever hope to be. But he was also an idiot, because really how could Shin-chan possibly believe Takao had any sincere intentions of studying tonight. Not when Shin-chan looked so cute furrowing his brows together, concentrating on his biology homework with that adorable scowl the hawkeye had learned to love. Who even did their homework this late in the school year? "Pfft."

"Stop making noise, idiot. I'm trying to focus."

It hadn't dawned on Takao that he'd done that out loud. "Sorry, Shin-chan."

It wasn't like any of this junk mattered anyway. By now they were merely going through the motions. They had each already taken their respective university entrance exams. All they had to do was show up to finals and they were practically guaranteed a high school diploma. Graduation was for all intents and purposes a foregone conclusion.

Shin-chan especially had nothing to worry about. He was ranked first in their class, poised to be valedictorian (he'd already written three speeches in his eternal quest to always be prepared), and he'd been accepted to his top choice university (anyone's top choice, really). That illustrious institution of higher learning was one of the most prominent schools in the world and certainly the best in the country. It also happened to be Shin-chan's father's alma matter.

Although he was happy for Shin-chan, truthfully he was, something about parting ways with his partner even if only during the school day made his stomach drop down all the way to his socked feet. Being not-so-secret boyfriends with Midorima Shintarō sometimes sucked. And who knew how long he'd be able to hold on to that title.

Takao tried not to think about what the future might bring. He'd been accepted to a somewhat reputable school in central Tokyo. His guidance counselor had even called it a "reach" for someone with his lackluster classroom credentials. Still, he couldn't help but feel bummed about it. He wouldn't be following Shin-chan's big, scholarly footsteps through arched walkways and hallowed halls. He wasn't fit to frolic at Shin-chan's prestigious new university. For the first time in a long time, Takao Kazunari hadn't been able to keep up with the amalgamation of unbelievable natural talent and brutal, unrelenting determination that was Midorima Shintarō. 

In the blink of an eye their three years together were almost over. Takao had plenty of friends he'd known longer than Midorima Shintarō, but none he cared about more. He remembered getting all teary-eyed when he and his middle school buddies had parted ways. Only a handful of them went on to Shūtoku. Still, there was something even more momentous about saying goodbye to his high school friends. And though Takao had been voted most popular in their senior superlatives and fraternized with nearly everyone, there was only one person he was getting separation anxiety over. This upcoming commencement day was going to leave a huge, Midorima-sized hole in his heart.

He would visit Shin-chan. _Of course_ he would. Their universities were in different wards, but they were still in the same city. Takao would take the train. Every chance he got. He would bring his school books with him and study in the library at that fancy pants university because that's where his partner, his heart, would be. He knew Shin-chan was obsessed with doing his best and would have his nose buried in a book from the first day of his post-secondary education and for the rest of his academic career. 

Takao tried not to think about that. The future, that is. He focused on the present, instead. They still had the rest of today (though to his dismay, it was getting late and the hours were whittling away much too quickly) and the last few weeks before the school year came to a close, before the curtains were drawn on the best three years of his life.

The hawkeye was determined to make the most of the here-and-now. He glanced furtively at his partner. Shin-chan worked hard. He deserved a bit of an interlude, the point guard decided. 

"Takao. Stop it!" Midorima protested, but Kazunari was an expert at wearing him down. Besides, he'd known Shin-chan long enough to tell the difference between actual protests and tsundere protests. Shin-chan wasn't putting up much of a fight and Takao saw no reason to halt the trail of kisses he was leaving up the long, elegant slope of the shooting guard's nape.

"Idiot." Midorima was starting to pant. "How are w-we going to room t-together next month if all you do is d-distract me from my s-studies?"

Takao immediately ceased what he was doing, slammed the brakes on his amorous advances, and looked at his boyfriend in complete and utter befuddlement. " _Whaaa_ _t_?"

Midorima turned six shaded of crimson before finally settling on fire engine red. "Um. I mean. That is --" He was stammering before deciding it was best to keep his big mouth closed. 

"Shin-chan. Does that mean you want to --"

Shūtoku's ace sighed in resignation. "I had planned to ask you properly. The night we graduate. But now that I've carelessly divulged my intentions, I hope you'll give the matter some serious consideration. My desire is for us to remain together."

Takao's jaw had dropped onto the low table where they were studying and Midorima mistook his speechlessness for rejection.

"Very well then. I acknowledge it was presumptuous of me to assume we would want the same things. My apologies, if I've --"

Midorima Shintarō was far smarter than Takao could ever hope to be. But he was also an idiot, because really Shin-chan how could you possibly be so dense? "Assume away, Shin-chan. Heck yeah, I'll move in with you."

Overcome with relief at not having to part ways with his best friend and so much more, Takao dissolved into a fit of giggles

"What are you laughing at, fool? "

"Nothing, Shin-chan. I'm happy we're going to be living together, that's all."

A small, satisfied smile sprouted on the tsundere's face and just as quickly disappeared when it morphed into a yawn. Something very agreeable occurred to Kazunari in that moment. "Waa!" he exclaimed. "This means I'll get to see Shin-chan's cute sleeping face every morning --"

"Humph." Midorima interjected indignantly. "Like _you'd_ ever wake up before I do." 

"I'd wake up early for that, Shin-chan," Takao said dreamily, sounding like he was a million miles away in a very happy place.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, idiot. We'll have separate bedrooms. Naturally." Midorima added, trying to reel the other back down to earth. 

Takao smiled mischievously. "Yeah, like I'm ever gonna sleep in mine."

Midorima turned a deaf ear to that last comment and pretended to go back to devoting his full attention to his homework. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but there was nothing he could do to hide the rosy hue on his cheeks. 

Still, something he'd said had gotten the creaky wheels to crank in Kazunari's noggin.

"Hey, Shin-chan," Takao hesitated like he was afraid to shatter something very delicate, a fragile and nascent stirring of hope that had suddenly and unexpectedly bloomed inside his chest. "Are your parents going to be okay with this arrangement?"

Shin-chan's parents were loaded so it wasn't like they were looking for a suitable roommate for their son to defray costs. And it was not like Shin-chan to express a desire to share living quarters with anyone. Takao could name on one finger the number of people who'd willingly sign up to be Midorima Shintarō's roommate and vice versa. It was like their first training camp all over again (but not like biology lab because Midorima Shintarō was a smarty-pants and Takao had to fight off all the other dummies who wanted to partner-off with his Shin-chan for the easy "A").

"My father won't notice until it's too late and my mother is preoccupied at the moment competing with my father's new secretary for his attentions." His deep baritone was unaffected, like he were speaking of mere acquaintances. Then again, none of this was news to Takao. They'd grown close in their three years of high school and Shin-chan had opened up to him about this and other matters.  

The last thing Takao wanted to do was talk Midorima out of it, but there was something else that concerned the hawkeye. "Don't you have to live in the dorms?" 

Takao's school was a commuter school. So it wasn't like they expected their freshman to live on-campus. In fact, the hawkeye wasn't even sure they _had_ housing. He had planned to stay at home anyway and save his parents the needless boarding expenses, at least for the first year. Then, maybe, he would move out his sophomore or junior year once he got a part-time job and several roommates. Tokyo wasn't cheap no matter where you lived. But Shin-chan's school had a separate campus for only their freshman and they were all expected to reside there.

Midorima waived off Takao's worry without so much as an explanation. "It's been taken care of," he said. It shouldn't surprise the point guard that Shin-chan's well-to-do parents had secured a dispensation from the rule that all freshmen must live on campus for their exceptional son. Dr. Midorima, in particular, wasn't shy about throwing his weight around, though he rarely cared enough to involve himself in such matters. It was amazing the things a distinguished alumnus with a fat checkbook could accomplish. 

Takao knew better than anyone that Shin-chan was special. The Miracle had been apportioned three selfish requests daily and (after the first training camp) had gotten private sleeping quarters whenever Shūtoku had an overnight trip. Ostensibly, it was because their ace-sama needed his beauty rest in order to nail all those impressive three-pointers. In reality, it was to remove temptation and keep the rest of the team from having to run laps until they died. 

The first time Princess Shin-chan fell asleep at one of their training camps, the remainder of the team did what teenage boys have done at sleepaways since time immemorial. They pranked the hell out of prissy, sheltered Midorima Shintarō. As punishment, an irritated Nakatani had made everyone but the person whose face had been doodled on with indelible ink run laps until their legs felt like they were on fire and in danger of falling off. Consequently, the guilty perpetrators, having expended all their energy on the track, were completely useless on the court afterward. 

Even if Dr. Midorima hadn't pulled some strings for his son, Takao was sure that one face-to-face interview with his Shin-chan and whatever infelicitous object happened to be the lucky item of the day would've been enough to persuade even the most staunch, stick-in-the-mud college administrator to effusively agree that _yes, Midorima Shintarō should absolutely have his own off-campus apartment_. 

 "So, the matter is settled, then?" Midorima mumbled into his notebook. Something about his cautious tone made Takao want to give him extra reassurance.

"Of course, Shin-chan," he laughed. "My lot is tied to yours, my ace-sama. Mi casa, es su casa."

"Don't let that B minus you got in English go to your head, Takao. I know it's your best subject and you're inexplicably proud of that grade, but your pronunciation is horrible."

Takao laughed in earnest this time. "That's cause it's Spanish, Shin-chan."

Midorima flushed, but he quickly recovered. "Well don't go learning any more languages. You barely speak Japanese properly." 

Takao laughed, but moments later he turned serious. Encouraged by the sudden, unexpectedly positive turn of events in their relationship, he gathered up all his courage to ask Shintarō something he'd wanted to ask him for quite some time now. "Hey, Shin-chan." He paused so he could phrase it just right. "After graduation, I want the second button on Shin-chan's gakuran."

"What the hell for? Go defile your own school uniform."

Takao got shot down, but he wasn't going to let his disappointment show, least of all to Midorima Shintarō. "Shin-chaaaan," he whined. "It's the one closest to your heart. Where's your sense of romance?"

"We're going to be sharing a whole closet. What do you want with a single button, idiot."

"Shin-chan's hysterical!" He chortled. "We're going to have _so_ much fun together."

Midorima harrumphed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but he didn't deny it. 

###

Graduation day came and went and a few weeks later, Takao was unpacking his things and putting them away in the living room of his new apartment when he came across a small, velvet jeweler's box nestled among his possessions. 

He knew it wasn't his and so he asked his newly minted roommate about it. "Hey, Shin-chan." He said when the green-haired giant passed him by, carrying an overflowing cardboard movers' box of heavy textbooks across the threshold of their apartment. It was April and the cherry trees were in full bloom outside the open door behind him. 

"Takao, I told you not to overload the boxes," he groused. "This one's practically falling apart."

Ignoring the reproach, Kazunari follow him into the larger of the two bedrooms. "What's this?" He showed him the little ring box.

"Open it," Midorima suggested, seemingly preoccupied with hurriedly organizing the voluminous tomes on one of the built-in shelves in what even he had to admit would be their shared bedroom. They were supposed to meet up with Kise, Kuroko, and Kagami at the nearby park later for hanami. 

Takao did as he was told. Inside the velvet box was a tiny velvet pillow and resting on that pillow was a shiny, newly polished, but well-worn brass button.

When a typically noisy Takao went uncharacteristically still, Midorima stopped what he was doing and turned his attention to the other man in the room.

"Why are you crying, idiot? It's what you wanted. Isn't it?"

"Yes, Shin-chan. It's everything I ever wanted." 

* * *

**AN1:** I can't remember if it was in a fan fic or in a dōjin where I first read about the practice of giving the second button from the top of your uniform jacket (the one closest to the heart) to your high school sweetheart upon graduation, but to me it sounded dreadfully romantic. The practice is discussed under the "Gakuran" section of this [article](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_school_uniform). I think Shin-chan is a closet romantic. Even though he'd deny it till his dying breath, he would totally do something like this if it's what Kazunari wanted. 

 **AN2:** One more prompt to go. I should be ashamed that I'm still not done writing for MidoTaka Week.


	7. Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shin-chan gets jealous. Takao thinks it's adorable.

**Day 7 Prompt:** Full Court

"Your mother is impossible," Takao announced to a seemingly disinterested Midorima as the hawkeye walked through the front double doors of their penthouse apartment and into the genkan.

Midorima was plucking away at the baby grand in their spacious living room. From his perch, the room's open floor plan afforded him a clear, unobstructed view of the entrance when his husband got home and perhaps that was why he'd chosen to plant himself in that spot this afternoon. 

If asked, Shintarō would say he was not actually playing anything in particular, but simply stringing together notes, passing the time until Takao arrived. If Kazunari were asked, he'd say Shin-chan was not just tickling the ivories, but playing that new J-pop hit that Takao couldn't get enough of and wholeheartedly adored (at least until the next chart topper came along). It was the ballad being blared by all the contemporary radio stations (stations that weren't preset on Shin-chan's dial), a ditty the hawkeye had been humming in the shower this morning before he'd left the house. 

"Shin-chan," Takao chirped. "You're playing my song."

"I have no clue what you're yammering about," he said, but continued to play the piece. 

The fact that Midorima Shintarō could recreate a tune he'd only heard once hummed to him in the shower while his attentions had been admittedly compromised by and devoted to other highly-distracting activities came to no surprise to Kazunari.

Shin-chan had a natural ear for music and he wasn't the only musical talent in his family. The Midorimas had produced two child prodigies. It wasn't only their eldest who played a composition like kittens had come down from the heavens and kissed his fastidiously manicured hands, at least that's how Takao would describe it because he adored the tsundere eyeroll it would assuredly provoke. Their youngest, Shuzuko, was a violin virtuoso.

The hawkeye took his shoes off and hung his raincoat in the entryway closet before Shin-chan could scold him for making a mess. Takao had been domesticated after years of living with Midorima Shintarō. The sportswriter no longer had to even think about putting his things away. He'd cohabited with Shin-chan long enough to tame his inherently disorganized tendencies.

Still, it didn't stop his fussy husband from finding fault when he was so inclined. "Put that umbrella in the stand, you are getting water all over the floor and close that door," he barked. 

In the few short months that they'd lived there, Takao had acquired the bad habit of leaving the front door open. The building's elevator required a key card to reach the top floor and since their unit occupied the entirety of that floor no other unit owners could come up uninvited. Takao saw little purpose in closing the door that separated the small landing outside the elevator from their genkan. Nonetheless, it was a point of contention whenever Shin-chan was looking for bones to pick.

Eternally easygoing, Takao did as he was told without so much as a retort. 

He noticed a bouquet of flowers on the credenza where they kept their car keys, wallets, and anything else that might come in handy on any given day in their rush out the door. He wasn't sure the word "flowers" even did them justice, they were gorgeous. "Are these . . . peonies? Shin-chan, did you buy flowers?" Takao squeaked excitedly over the unexpected purchase. 

"They were on sale at the grocer's. I had to go there earlier to pick up my own lunch," the tsundere groused in a tone that said he expected sympathy or at the very least a pat on the back for the heroic effort of having to fetch his own food today because Takao had neglected him (not that he'd ever admit to such neediness). It was a testament to how thoroughly besotted Kazunari was with his new husband that he actually found the man's petulant, childish behavior endearing.

Takao eyed the flowers suspiciously. He didn't, for a minute, buy the wares Shin-chan was peddling. Floral arrangements like this one didn't come from supermarkets even the pretentious gourmet market Shin-chan insisted they shop at because they carried all the hard to find brands he liked and had an extensive, ready-made food section (an indispensable necessity since Shin-chan was about as useful as an infant in the kitchen).

These were expensive, they had Sazuna's high-street florist written all over them, or rather on a tiny logoed nameplate at the base of the heavy vase. They must've been delivered too, he couldn't see Shin-chan transporting something this large and potentially messy in his pristine, meticulously maintained German import. 

Even so, Takao paid no further heed to the pretty flora and continued with his story from earlier. "I mean it, Shin-chan. There's no pleasing that woman," he said, as if Shintarō's lack of an interested response was a sign the green-haired giant hadn't heard him the first time or was an open invitation for him to continue with his rant.

"Mmmm," came the unsolicitous response. "And you're just learning this  _now_?" He added in a voice dripping with boredom because of course he already knew this. Midorima had known this woman his whole life. He had so long ago given up any aspirations of making her happy, he couldn't even remember having such idiotic inclinations. Unlike his sister, who'd turn herself into a pretzel trying (and failing) to please their mother and as a result attempted to evade the woman (which of course had the opposite effect, _Shuzuko? It's Mother. Why haven't you called me?_ ), Midorima knew a fool's errand when he saw one.

It was hospital fundraising season. An inevitable and unenjoyable annual occurrence the unsociable Shintarō tried his hardest to avoid, like flu season which also coincided with the occasion. The preparations for the galas, the silent auctions, the soirées had traditionally fallen on the padded, idle shoulders of the spouses of the medical staff. While the physicians in Shintarō's hospital came in both genders, it seemed the hospital's fundraising wing was made up exclusively of wives,  _until now_. Takao had come back from their honeymoon a few short months ago determined to join their bejeweled ranks. In the past, Takao had accompanied Shin-chan to these events as his date, but he'd never had a hand in putting them together. This year he was hell bent on having a say. 

Midorima Sazuna, of course, was well-entrenched and right a home in this high-class coterie. She was in her element, a veteran at navigating in insular circles of privileged and pampered women and coming out on top. She was an expert at getting exactly what she wanted, an old pro, though she'd strenuously object to anyone referring to her as "old," no matter the context. 

Shintarō's mother hadn't exactly been sitting around, pinching pennies when Shintarō's father came-a-courting in search of a bride among Kyoto's monied socialites. He chose her over all the other socially advantaged debutantes for the sole, foolhardy reason that she was most beautiful, a rash decision that had profound consequences for the two of them and had a ripple effect on those who were born out of this mismatched union.

Shintarō's father hadn't been hoodwinked in his lone criterion. Sazuna was striking -- a curtain of glossy black hair, fair, delicate features, and the most perfect heart-shaped face Takao had ever seen on anyone outside of canvas. But that didn't mean there hadn't been a lot of scheming, connivance, and competition going on behind the scenes in vying for the attentions of the rich, high-born, and devastatingly handsome doctor. A few, less charitable well-to-do ladies, perhaps noshing on sour grapes, might say Sazuna got exactly what she deserved. Whether he would've stayed married to his young bride had Shin-chan not made his prompt debut into the world nine months to the day following their whirlwind romance and quick nuptials was the subject of much, mean-spirited speculation.

Midorima had expected strenuous resistance from the catty clowder of doctor's wives, but Takao had been his usual, irresistible self and had won them over handedly. Midorima only hoped his husband hadn't charmed the designer pants off of them as well. It was an ugly thought and entirely unmerited, he knew this, but he couldn't help himself. He always got this way when Takao met up with these women.

Kazunari was young, hot, and had a sexy smile that could halt traffic. He was also bisexual. Something Midorima was not. When Midorima Shintarō had told Basketball Monthly all those years ago that he preferred an older woman, what he had actually meant was that he didn't prefer women in the slightest and what he really needed was to provide an answer that would categorically eliminate all the girls in his age group and discourage even the most headstrong among them from stupidly confessing to him.

Midorima wasn't particularly thrilled about Takao spending the day in a room full of trophy wives and his mother. Though he supposed his mother would've qualified as a trophy wife in her heyday, she _was_ a beauty queen when his father whisked her away to her unhappily ever after or whatever the hell their marriage was these days. 

Today he was especially miffed. He was annoyed that Takao had had the nerve to abandon him on one of the rare days when the planets had aligned and the stars had shone down upon them favorably and they both had the same day off, not that he'd ever admit to missing his shadow. Takao worked full time as a sportswriter for a small publication, but more often than not he kept reasonable business hours and had the weekends off. Midorima, on the other hand, worked round the clock, kept erratic hours and sometimes clawed his way back into their apartment at some ghastly hour (annoyed that Takao had left the front door open, _again_ ) like some creature from a horror flick after a seemingly interminable shift at the hospital. 

When Takao had asked him this morning what he had planned on doing on his day off, Shintarō had opened the curtains, peered through the large bedroom window that doubled as a wall at the dark, dreary day outside and answered honestly:  _absolutely nothing_.  What he had meant was that he had wanted to spend the day in bed, with _him_. Of course, spending the day in bed the way Shintarō had envisioned it and the way Takao had interpreted it were two very different things. Spending the day in bed together was one of Shintarō's guilty, though unvoiced pleasures, spending the day in bed alone was plainly, downright pathetic.

Midorima had eagerly awaited Takao's return all day. He had told himself he would be nice to Kazu when he came back. He would let Kazu know, in his own way, that he had been missed and that Takao Kazunari was the most important person in Midorima Shintarō's life. Yet here he was barking orders and cantankerously complaining about the rainwater on the floor. Sometimes Midorima Shintarō was his own worst enemy. 

Kazunari noticed a second, equally massive bouquet of peonies at the center of their large dining room table among the neat piles of opened and sorted wedding gifts. They had decided against a registry. They had been living together long enough to have acquired everything they would need to outfit their new home and begin their lives as newlyweds. But that hadn't stopped their guests from sending them gifts. They had ranged from the traditional (they didn't need five nabemonos and were sending three of them back), to the vaguely threatening (a basket of pineapples from Kiyoshi), to the unorthodox -- an industrial sized vat of hospital grade lubricant (thank you Aomine). That gift they were keeping though Midorima wished they hadn't opened it in front of his scandalized mother, at least he'd had the good sense not to read the enclosed card aloud. They had exchanged their vows, the marriage had been _heavily_ consummated, the thank you notes had already been sent out, and the wedding gifts they were keeping had been put away (or put to good use). The remaining gifts were the ones on the table. They would be returned to the department stores from whence they came.

Takao had dismissed the first bouquet as possibly a whim, but he couldn't ignore the second. Shin-chan was pulling out all the stops, he rightfully thought. "You always get this way Shin-chan," he mused.

"Get like what?" 

"Like _this_ ," he said, invading Shin-chan's personal space and kissing his new husband on the lips, taking advantage of the fact that his very tall spouse was sitting on a piano bench. "All jealous," he teased. 

The music came to a sudden, jarring stop. "Jealous?" Midorima bristled.

"Yes, my green-eyed monster, you _too_ get jealous."

"That's nonsense," he protested, sounding deeply offended like Takao had called him a cad, or a louse, or a scoundrel, or some other antiquated insult. "I don't get jealous," he said stubbornly.

"Yes, you do." Takao had moved on from his lover's lip to his chin to his strong jaw and had every intention of nipping his way down his neck. "And it's always over women too," he observed.

"You're imaging things," Midorima insisted. 

"Am I?" Takao paused his ministrations to look at his favorite pair of gemstones framed by a gorgeous set of thick, long lashes and encased in prescription strength glass. If eyes were the windows to the soul, it only seemed fitting that guarded, reserved Midorima Shintarō would protect his behind spectacles. "You don't get like this when I hang out with Ryōta."

Takao tried to continue his amorous assault, but Midorima pushed him away. "Should I be?" He was dead serious.

Takao smiled. His silly husband was tilting at windmills. "Of course not."

Kise Ryōta with his odd, made-up honorifics and excessive guyliner was a former model and one of Takao's closest friends. He was also in deep, deep (bottom dwelling marine life could live there) denial about his sexuality. He was the self-professed bachelor conjuring up an apparently endless bevy of beauties when the need arose  --  like that leggy Brazilian lingerie model who had been his "plus one" to their wedding -- only to make them disappear just as quickly. 

"Am I being wooed, then?"

"Don't be preposterous." 

"Fresh flowers, a serenade on the piano. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was being courted. The only thing missing are the chocolates."

"D-don't go into the kitchen," Midorima stammered. 

"Shin-chan has nothing to worry about." Takao said with that easy smile that had Shintarō worried in the first place. 

"They're all a bunch of bored housewives whose husbands work too much," the tsundere rejoined as if these were both good reasons to be concerned.

"Exactly. And I'm a _very_ ," the hawkeye punctuated the word with a kiss, "happily married man."

"Is that so?" Midorima sounded almost playful and Takao had to struggle to keep a straight face, to keep from squealing like a smitten school girl. 

"Yes. Now take me to bed Dr. Midorima."

"It's four in the afternoon."

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all."

* * *

 **AN1:** In the language of flowers, peonies mean a happy marriage, so of course Shin-chan would pick them for his bouquets to his new husband (Takao hasn't had the benefit of Shin-chan's refined upbringing so he has no clue what the flowers symbolize). And the bouquets would be lavish too because it's pretty much canon that Midorima spends big bucks when it comes to Takao (at least when it comes to Scorpio's lucky item). If you're wondering where the kiddos are, they haven't been adopted (or even born) yet. The chronology of these posts are all mixed up. If I had posted the MTW prompts in order they would've gone like this: Day 2, Day 1, Day 6, Day 3, Day 4, Day 7, Day 5.

 **AN2:**  The folks at [MidoTaka Week](http://midotakaweek.tumblr.com/) were really nice about letting me turn these in late. Out of all the prompts, writing for this one was by far the hardest. The only thing I could think of for "full court" was a basketball court, but I'm no good at writing game sequences, so I went with the verb "courting" instead. 

Done. Done. Finally Done! That was the last prompt for MTW, _but_ I'm going to add a few more (unprompted) chapters to this so stay tuned. Thanks for reading my fics. It's been fun!


	8. Dangerous Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was bad enough that training camp (much like regular practice) consisted of running until they puked, but now their evenings were filled with these pointless games and trust exercises.

**Day 8: Written for BPS' Team Battle**

“Angus,” said Miyaji with absolute boredom, after unfolding the piece of paper he’d drawn from a kasa (which coincidentally was Cancer’s lucky item of the day) and placing it at the top of the growing pile on the tatami mat in the middle of the room.

“Um, uh … hol, holster,  _holstein_ ,” said Kimura with some trepidation after everyone had had several turns and they were running out of names.

Shūtoku’s starting lineup was sitting on futons arranged in a circle at the center of the room shared by the three upperclassmen and Takao. Shin-chan (for obvious reasons mainly having to do with furthering the interest of avoiding the homicide of a kohai via a late-night “accidental” pillow smothering) had his own bedroom and would be retiring there for the evening just as soon as this unhappy exercise in futility was over.

In the meantime, he was forced to share space with Takao on the hawkeye’s futon. Shūtoku's eccentric ace was like a lightning rod for Miyaji’s ire and so to prevent any sparks Ōtsubo had sat down between the both of them to Midorima’s right and to Midorima’s left was Takao followed by Kimura completing the circuit.

It was bad enough that training camp (much like regular practice) consisted of running until they puked, with the added benefit that instead of  _terra firma_ , they had to struggle with keeping their balance while the fickle sand shifted beneath their bare feet. But now their evenings were packed with these pointless games and mindless team bonding exercises. No one, absolutely  _no one_ , was having a good time as they all took turns drawing the last few remaining pieces of folded paper.

Nakatani had made them each write categories on strips of paper left over from Tanabata and throw them into the hat. The purpose of this game was painfully transparent. In theory, it was so they could all get to know each other better, find common interests, in reality the freshman and the upperclassman only succeeded in further annoying each other. When it became obvious that some of the categories had purposely been contrived so as to quickly speed the game along ( _Austrian composers born in Salzburg in the year 1756 under the sign of_ _Aquarius_ , written in Shin-chan’s perfectly neat penmanship), Coach decided to throw his own broad categories into the mix before heading back to the tranquility of his own room for the night. The round on all star basketball players had lasted forever and a day. And now they were on the insipid topic of cows which had endured longer than anyone had expected.  

Earlier in the week, they had played the game where you were  _supposed_  to trust your teammate to catch you as you fell backwards. Which was great and all until it was Takao’s turn to catch their center and well, the point guard got flattened like a pancake and Ōtsubo claimed Takao’s elbows were sharper than a pair of crochet hooks. Capture the flag had also been a cheerless flop when Nakatani had been unable to find a suitable hiding spot outside the hawkeye’s range of vision.  

The five of them were now in matching pajamas provided by the ryokan where they were staying. Only Takao’s pant legs were long enough to reach his ankles. Everyone was exhausted from the actual physical exertion of training all day on the beach, but Nakatani forbade them from going to bed until every last one of those folded pieces of paper was selected. Mercifully the heap in the hat was slowly but surely dwindling down. 

“Taurus,” Midorima said.

“That’s not a breed of cattle, that’s an astrological sign.  _Damn brat._  Trying to pull a fast one on his sempais. Draw!“ 

Not wishing to stir up any more of Miyaji’s wrath for the day, Midorima did as he was told and fished another one out. It was well past his bedtime and his three selfish requests had long been used up before breakfast. “Oha Asa,” he said after reading the category and placing the now unfolded piece of paper on top of the one Kimura had pulled out.

“Apple pie,” their captain answered.

“Miyu-miyu,” Miyaji responded when it was his turn.

“Pro wrestling,” Kimura uttered. 

“Shin-chan,” Takao stated reflexively.

He realized what he had said when the rowdy room of cranky teenage boys went pin-drop silent, when his on-the-court partner who was sitting to his immediate right sprouted a blush so vibrant in its intensity, he strongly resembled a ripe tomato ( _no seriously_ , with Shin-chan’s hair color the likeness was uncanny), and when Miyaji looked several times between the simple words written on the seemingly harmless little scrap of parchment and their point guard like they were irreconcilable, like he couldn’t quite connect the two or wrap his brain around them.

“Thbpt!"  _Oh shit._  Miyaji was clearly having an aneurysm. The power of speech left him, but only for a moment. "That’s your answer?! That’s the first thing that popped into your head?! Thaaaat … thbpt?!”  _Ah, it was gone again_. 

 _Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._  Takao had done it. He’d killed their small forward. He was sure that’s what he had done when the scariest of their sempais was rolling around on his futon gurgling and foaming at the mouth like a really angry rabid dog.

Then Miyaji did something unexpected. He bent himself in half and sat up straight the way zombies always emerged from the grave in low budget movies. And then it dawned on Takao that the person who was going to die tonight wasn’t Miyaji. It was himself. Because Miyaji was going to strangle him. That is, if the mortification didn’t get to him first. He wasn’t sure how long his heart could go on pumping this hard before it finally gave up on him for being a colossal idiot, too stupid to be alive.  

The only warning Takao received was when that vein began to twitch at the center of Miyaji’s forehead. The one he often saw during practice when the upperclassman was at the end of his very short rope and it was going to start raining pineapples on Shūtoku’s only two starting freshmen.

Takao spared a look at his shocked beloved (who sat transfixed and hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t so much as blinked those thick, impossibly long lashes since Kazunari’s traitorous, big mouth decided to break the news in a most indelicate way) because if he was going to die tonight, he was going to look one last time, then he took off like a light.

“Kimura, forget the pineapple, I will run this brat over with your pickup truck.” Thankfully, Kimura’s pickup truck was safely parked four hours away in Tokyo behind his family’s fruit and vegetable shop. 

Takao realized several things that night. Running on wet sand was a  _lot_  easier when you rightfully thought your life was in danger, Miyaji ran like a gazelle but the point guard was faster (all those months pulling Princess Shin-chan along in the rickshaw had really improved his stamina), and he had answered truthfully.

Back at the room, Shūtoku’s remaining sempais purposely ignored the catatonic, green-haired elephant in the room for now, as an irritated Kimura reached for his wallet, pulled out all the paper bills he had in there and wistfully forked them over to an uncharacteristically smug-faced Ōtsubo who was holding his hand out in the universal sign of ‘pay up, you lost a bet.’

Meanwhile the seemingly harmless little paper that had been the source of so much discord sat innocently at the center of their now broken circle bearing the words, “Things you can’t live without” in Coach Nakatani’s unmistakably efficient handwriting.

* * *

**AN:** This chapter was my lone submission for Team Shūtoku during the [BPS' 2015 Team Battle](http://basketballpoetsociety.tumblr.com/post/123530389963/and-for-this-the-very-last-battle-of-bps-we-have). It was so much fun seeing everyone's KNB fan fics and fan art popping up on my dash daily. I enjoyed it immensely and I am especially proud of Team Shūtoku (the Fighting Pineapples j/k) who submitted a grand total of 525 entries! 


	9. A Love Story in Three Acts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't know it by the way they treat him, but Shūtoku's seniors are very protective of their ace.

**Day 9: A Love Story in Three Acts**

**Act I:  Dude! You're Totally Dating.**

_You wouldn't know it by the way they treat him, but the seniors are very protective of their ace. Miyaji and Kimura's version of the  "You break his heart, we'll break your knee caps" speech._

“Oi brat!” Miyaji called from down the hallway. “What the hell are you carrying a telescope for?” he asked when Takao came over to where he was standing near the shoe lockers.

“Lemme guess.” Kimura said, rolling his eyes. “He’s making you carry  _all_ his trinkets now? Not just the heavy ones?”

Takao laughed. “Nah, it’s not like that. This is Scorpio’s lucky item,” he said proudly brandishing the telescope.

“He’s got you believing that horoscope shit too?”

“Nah. Shin-chan bought it for me,” he said with a wide grin, hugging the toy like an idiot.

“Takao, don’t you think this is going too far?” Kimura asked.

“What is?”

Miyaji felt his hands tremble in anger as he forced himself not to yell for a pineapple. “Listen here, brat,” he said with considerable restraint. “Kimura is talking about you gallivanting off with Midorima doing heaven knows what.”

“Shin-chan? You think I’m doing stuff with Shin-chan?” Takao laughed “What gave you that idea?”

“Oh,  _I don’t know_. Carrying around all his weird shit, staying behind after practice so he can meet his daily quotient of OCD three-pointers or whatever, then carting him home in that stupid rickshaw every night. Do I even need to mention the rooftop lunches?”

“We only take the rickshaw some of the time. Taking Shin-chan home is my duty,” Takao said with a grin. “Besides, you were the ones who said I was only a freshman which meant I had to do everything you said including babysitting Midorima, cause no one else on the team wants to do it.”

“Yeah, well. We said ‘baby- _sitting'_ not 'babying.'” Miyaji said, using air quotes. “We didn’t know you’d go all Stockholm on us. You even brought him chocolate on Valentine’s Day. What the hell was  _that_  all about?”

“It wasn’t even the store bought kind,” Kimura piped in.

“You know all the girls are too intimidated by him. If  _I_  didn’t do it, who else was going to give him chocolate?

"Dude!” Kimura exclaimed like the thought just occurred to him. “You take selfies with him and then text them to the rest of us.” He shuddered. He didn’t mention that Takao always looked like a besotted school girl in them and Midorima always had the calm, collected composure of a deer in the headlights.

“You wear his t-shirts.”

“Only some of the time.”

“That’s it!” Miyaji said pointing at Takao. “You’re always doing shit with him. Embarrassing shit too. You two are a fucking shōjo manga.”

“Look, what Kyoshi is trying to say,” Kimura interjected, taking a stab at being the voice of reason, “is that most dudes don’t treat their  _girlfriends_ as well as you treat Midorima. So if that’s where ….” Unsure of how to end that sentence, Kimura let it die a slow, painful death before taking a different route. “Look what you do with your ass is your own business, but - -”

“My ass?  _My_  ass? What makes you think I’d be the girl?”

“Homemade chocolate, on  _Valentine’s_  Day!” Miyaji answered. That weird vein across his forehead was starting to throb again.

“Yeah, well. We just want to make sure you’ve got this. Got your eyes open,” Kimura said, ignoring his fellow senior. “Because, between the two of you,” he said, referring to Midorima and Takao. “You are the sane one. Let that sink in for a moment.  _You’re_  the sane one. ”

“None of us would vote for Midorima in a personality contest, but we don’t want to see him get crushed either. So don’t treat him like he’s your boyfriend, if you’re not serious about him.”

“Whoa,” Takao said, putting his palms up. “First of all. That’s really adorable that you guys care about Shin-chan’s feelings - -” he had started to say until he caught the look of bloody murder on Miyaji’s face. “Right, moving on to my second point. It’s not like that between us, you guys. Shin-chan and I don’t fool around in that way. We’ve never even kissed.”

The crazed glint in Miyaji’s eye said he wanted to smack the cluelessness off of Kazunari’s face. “Just cause you two aren't fucking,” the silent 'yet’ was implied loudly, “doesn’t mean you’re not in a relationship.”

“Look, I’ve already been upfront with you guys about being bi - -”

“Whoa!”

“You did not need to go there.”

Miyaji and Kimura both interjected, not wanting to be reminded of that awkward training camp conversation.

“The point is, if Shin-chan and I were dating, I’d have no reason to hide it from the two of you. But the fact is, we’re not.”

Sensing that Miyaji was going to blow his top and perhaps feeling a bit apprehensive about the safety of his kohai, Kimura jumped in again. “What my  _learned_  colleague is trying to say is that this is not normal guy on guy behavior. So don’t lead him on.”

Takao laughed. “You guys are so funny. Shin-chan and I are just friends,” he said as he walked away.

Kazunari made it just past the last row of lockers, before Miyaji said, “He’s totally fucking with us, right?”

“Yup.”

“Kimura, the pineapple.”

* * *

**Act II:  Of Course, We're Dating.**

_Shin-chan needs a little reassurance, Takao is all too eager to provide it._

“You’re trembling,” he said as he cupped Shintarō’s face in his palms. It wasn’t a question.

Midorima opened his eyes, pulling away immediately. “Stop sprouting nonsense, you fool.” He sounded angry, but Takao wasn’t falling for it.

“Shin-chan, this isn’t the first time we’ve done this,” the hawkeye reminded him.  _That_ glorious moment in Kazunari’s short life had taken place exactly last Tuesday in Shūtoku’s dilapidated locker room.

Earlier in the day, Midorima had made it clear to Takao that they had a biology quiz tomorrow. The tsundere had already studied for it, but he was going to use that as his out, in case things got too heated, in case he needed to make a hasty exit, flee the newly established testing ground of Takao’s bedroom. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t want to do what they were hopefully about to do now, this first step on the road to perdition. “Look are we going to do this or not?” he snapped. Despite his harsh tone, he desperately wanted to salvage the mood.

“ _Not_.” Takao said running his frustrated fingers through his own hair in an attempt to pull it, forgetting he’d stolen his sister’s hair clips to pin it back. He hadn’t wanted his fringe to get in the way when he made out with his crush. Shin-chan wasn’t the only one who believed in advance preparations. “Not when you look like you’re afr-, like a condemned man being led to the gallows.”

Midorima appeared perplexed by Kazunari's remark, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he started gathering his books. Takao knew he was going to have to speak up, otherwise things were going to fester and get really weird between them. The point guard wasn’t going to get any sleep and he’d probably flunk that biology quiz cause he sure as hell wasn’t going to study for it  _now_.

“Shin-chan wait –” He reached for taped fingers.

“I told you I have to study,” Midorima said. Despite his words, he didn’t pull away.

Takao saw his opening and took it. “You looked scared, before,” he said pointing to the spot where they’d both sat minutes earlier, before Shin-chan got all skittish like a fraidy-cat.

“Stop saying such foolish things,” Midorima said adjusting his glasses with his free hand and pointedly avoiding Kazunari’s penetrating gaze even though he knew Takao’s hawkeye made that gesture useless.

“Do you not like it, kissing?” Takao wasn’t known for eloquence even in the best of times and Midorima resisted the urge, even now, to correct his grammar.

“You don’t like it?” the hawkeye persisted. “When I kiss you?”

It was clear Takao wasn’t going to drop it. Sometimes the point guard reminded the shooting guard of a dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to stop until he whittled it all away.

Midorima sighed in resignation. Even as he steeled his resolve, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor of Takao’s messy bedroom. “You flirt with everyone,” he said, recognizing the striped sock Takao had worn last Tuesday peeking out from the foot of the bed.

“That’s not true, Shin-chan. I don’t flirt with everyone. I flirt with you.”

Midorima took back his well-protected fingers from Kazunari’s tentative grasp. “You’re never serious. You joke around  _all_ the time,” he continued because once he’d let the self-conscious cat out of the bag he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, apparently. “How do I know what you really think? How do I know this isn’t you, being frivolous?”

Realization struck Kazunari like a thunderbolt. Takao slapped his hand over his own mouth so loudly Midorima couldn’t help but look at him. “Oh my –”

“S-stop it.” Midorima warned him. “Forget I said anything. Let’s just finish this chapter and then I’ll go home,” he offered in compromise, hoping in vain Takao would drop the whole thing.

“ _Shin-chan_?” Takao said in that high-pitched, irritating tone he reserved for when he was about to squeal. His mouth was gaping open and Midorima felt tempted to reach out and shut it for him. “Shin-chan, you should’ve told me you wanted a proper confession.”

“I wanted a  _what_?!” Midorima asked because he couldn’t even begin to pretend he could follow Takao’s warped train of thought.

“Last week, in the locker room, I thought I made myself clear. I thought you knew.” Takao said. “You think I’m not serous.”

“Of course I think that. Everyone thinks that. You’re a buffoon.” Midorima huffed indignantly, of all the times to bring out the obvious.

“You think I’m not serious about you, about us,” Takao amended.

Midorima rolled his eyes for lack of a better response.  

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Shin-chan,” Takao said with a wide grin. The hawkeye’s insides were filling up with joy so quickly he cracked up loudly in relief. “And you call me the idiot.”

“Of course, I call you an idiot, idiot.”

“Shin-chan, come here.”

“No.”

“Come on, Shin-chan, I won’t bite …  _hard_.”

“Ssstop it. Baka!”

“Oh, alright, I’ll come to you princess.”

“D-don’t call me that.”

“Shin-chan,” Takao said when he was close enough to gather the 195 centimeter basketball phenom in his arms. “I’m serious. I’m dead serious. There’s no one else I do this stuff with. Not anymore. Not since I wanted to make you recognize me.” That got the tsundere’s attention. “Midorima Shintarō. You are my most important person. Will you also be my boyfriend?”

“Takao, you  _idiot_!”

“I’m going to interpret that as a ‘yes.’” Midorima did not respond, but he didn’t push him away either. 

“I’m going to kiss my boyfriend now,” Takao announced and true to his word, he did just that.

* * *

  **Act III: High Spec Kareshi, or _Not_**

_Takao gets Ōtsubo in trouble without even trying._

“A grande, double-shot, triple foam, extra-hot mocha latte with a light dusting of nutmeg in a venti sized-cup,” Takao told the cute barista who wasted no time writing her phone number on his large cup, accentuating it with little hearts.

“Takao,” Ōtsubo called out, approaching the second-year. “I didn’t know you drank coffee.”

“I don’t. It’s for Shin-chan." 

"Greetings, Kazu-kun,” said the pretty brunette clinging to Ōtsubo’s arm.

“Oh hi Michiko-san,” Takao said to Ōtsubo’s girlfriend. “I didn’t see you there behind the big lug.”

“I’m impressed, Kazu-kun. Memorizing a complicated order like that,” she commented.

Takao scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, it’s no big deal really. I’ve done it hundreds of times. Shin-chan always gets the same thing.”

“I thought Midorima preferred tea?”

“He does, but he says ‘these bumbling fools couldn’t brew matcha if you drew them a diagram, nanodayo’ or something like that.” He remarked with a laugh. Then, he turned his attention to the rightfully insulted barista, who was already crestfallen at having learned she’d written her digits on what was apparently some else’s drink. “Sorry. Those were his words, not me,” he told her.

“Your friend sounds  _charming_ ,” she said with an extra shot of sarcasm.

“Yeah,” Takao mused, a bit too fondly. “Are those scones shiruko flavored?” he asked her. She nodded perkily when he smiled at her. “I’ll take two.”

Apparently, the small gesture had been enough to revive her hopes. “You have the prettiest eyes,” she told him as he placed his money on the little square tray near the cash register.

“Thanks. They’re my mothers.” He smiled again as she handed him his scones. She slyly threw in an extra one which Takao didn’t notice when he stuffed them into his bag.

“Do you have one of those green, plastic stoppers? My ride’s a bit bumpy and I don’t want to spill.” It was the reason he'd ordered a medium drink in larger-sized cup.

Ōtsubo couldn’t help himself, he looked for the rickshaw parked out front, sure enough.

“How’s uni treating you guys?” he asked the happy couple.

“It’s been great,” Michiko answered for the both of them. “Tai-chan and I have lunch together everyday.” Takao raised a teasing eyebrow at the nickname 'Tai-chan.’ Ōtsubo gave him one right back, a silent,  _I don’t want to hear that coming from you_.

The trio chatted a bit while Takao waited for his special friend’s special order to be made.

“Well, I better get going,” he said as he glanced at the time on his phone. “Shin-chan’s almost done with his piano lessons and I wanna surprise him.”

“It was good seeing you two,” Takao said as he picked up Midorima’s drink off the counter and waived goodbye.

Once Kazunari was out of sight, Michi-chan hit her oaf of a boyfriend in the stomach with her handbag.

“Hey? What was that for?” Ōtsubo complained.

“How come you don’t surprise me with scones and custom crafted foam lattes?” Michiko pouted. The former captain tried hard to keep a straight face, he didn’t want to clue his long-term girlfriend in on the fact that she was about as intimidating as an angry kitten.

“I’ve never thought about it.” Ōtsubo earned another blow to his stomach for his honesty.

“I’m your  _girlfriend_ ,” she reminded him. “Takao-kun is always doing such thoughtful things for Midorima-kun and they’re just teammates.”

Ōtsubo’s straight-faced façade came crumbling down at her observation. It broke into a million pieces when he started cracking up.

Michiko gave her boyfriend an irritated glare. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“You think Midorima is only that brat’s teammate?” he asked, wiping a tear from his eye. His abs were starting to hurt and not just from Michiko’s overstuffed purse. “Oh man,” he said, clutching his sides. “I haven’t laughed like this since–”

Ōtsubo quickly clammed up when he noticed Michiko-chan was not amused. “Midorima is his  _boyfriend_ ,” he said, cluing her in.

“Eh? Takao-kun is gay?”

“He wasn’t always like that,” Ōtsubo confessed. At least he thought so. The ikemen had had a girlfriend when he’d first joined the team, but like all fledgling romances it had proven to be no match for Nakatani’s grueling training schedule. It had sort of fizzled out on its own when the hapless girl got tired of waiting every night for Kazunari to finish practice.

It was around that time that the sempais had unanimously nominated (coerced) the point guard to play keeper/babysitter to their high-strung, prima donna ace. None of the other team members could stand Midorima and it was an unwritten law of the universe that the seniors could make the freshman do pretty much anything they wanted. It had been Miyaji’s idea to saddle Takao with the 79 kilogram albatross, but Ōtsubo and Kimura had gone along with it. “We sort of broke him,” he admitted somewhat guiltily.

“Oh man, my little sisters are going to be  _so_ disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Ōtsubo agreed. Michi-chan’s sisters, like most girls at their former high school, had their sights on a certain high-spec prospective boyfriend.

To say Takao Kazunari was popular with the skirts and pony-tail brigade was an understatement. Even Taisuke had to occasionally reign Tae in, lest she get any stupid ideas in her head.

Not having to worry about his little sister was probably the one benefit of having Takao off the market. That and Shūtoku’s ace being in the occasional good mood. But Ōtsubo didn’t want to dwell too much on that. He was happy his kohais had found each other, really he was, but he still didn’t want to think about all the cringe-inducing things Kazunari was probably doing and  _wanted_ to do to Midorima. Because it was evident someone or  _something_ was responsible for removing that perma-scowl from Shintarō’s face.

“The thing is,” he told Michi. “You can’t help but root for them. They’re as different as night and day.” Or socially awkward and social butterfly. “So you wouldn’t know it unless you saw them together, but they really work. They just do. I can’t explain it. They’re really well suited for each other.”

                                                         ###

_Ten years later …_

“Oww, Shin-chan. You got it in my eye.”

“It’s your fault. You were staring right at it.”

“I’m being serious. That was like a direct hit.”

“My shots never miss.”

Takao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “Did you just make a joke?”

“I tried to. Now hold still, I’ve cleaned up most of it.”

Takao wasn’t kidding, his eye was watering in agony. It was like lemon juice on a fresh cut. “I’m being serious. It really hurts.”

“Of course it does. You’ve got anywhere from 180 to 500 million of them trying to impregnate your cornea at the moment. Now hold still.”

“Ugh. Gross. Stop trying to impress me with your fancy doctor facts.”

“This wouldn’t be news to you if you’d just paid attention in biology class.”

Takao was really starting to panic. “You gotta level with me, doc. Can I go blind from this?”

“Hardly. If that were the case, every buffoon we know would be walking around with an eye patch. Aomine would’ve probably given himself two patches. Frankly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to you sooner.”

“Shin-chan, you’ve picked a terrible time to grow a sense of humor.”

“Oh, alright. If it makes you feel better I’ll get my kit.”

Midorima came back moments later with his medical kit. “Hold still,” he demanded.

“I can’t help it. You’re shining that thing in my eye.”

“Of course I am, it’s a  _penlight_. Look it’s a little red, a little irritated. I’ll give you an eyewash. You’ll be as good as new.”

“Hey Shin-chan.” The side of Takao’s face was smooshed down against their bathroom sink and he could feel his boyfriend’s weight on his back as Midorima crowded over him to rinse out his eye.

“What?”

“I’m kinda turned on again.”

“Idiot.”

* * *

**AN1:**  I realize now that I didn't include enough of the seniors in [Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1785538/chapters/3826192). I don't know what the hell I was thinking because Shūtoku's seniors are the _best_. This was my lame, belated attempt to correct a major oversight. Sometimes I'm tempted to go back and add more chapters to NTMTBDLT, but that might be too confusing for everyone.  

 **AN2:** The updated chronology for this fic, including this chapter is: Day 8, Day 2, Day 9.1, Day 9.2, Day 1, Day 6, Day 3, Day 9.3, Day 4, Day 7, Day 5.


	10. Mug Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you asked Midorima, Kuroko was to blame.

_This one shot was written in response to a prompt I received on[Tumblr](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/post/124998566667/i-saw-this-prompt-imagine-your-same-gender-otp): "Imagine your same-gender OTP adopting a kid, and that kid getting a single “#1 dad/mum” mug for fathers’/mothers’ day. They leave it on the breakfast table before their parents wake up. What happens next is up to you."_

_The prompt calls for a much older Keiko-chan than the toddler we see in the series. When Keiko turns five, she will be matriculating in Uncle Tetsuya's kindergarten class ~~for adorable and precocious children~~. Unfortunately, there was a substitute the day the kids made their Father's Day mugs hence the single mug. The following is what ensued when she brought her one-of-a-kind craft home._

* * *

  **Day 10: Mug Shot**

“Shin-chan. What are you doing?”

“Drinking my tea. _Obviously_.” Midorima stressed the “b” in “obviously” as he took a sip of his expertly prepared matcha in what was clearly _his_ cup.

“Shin-chan. That’s my mug.”

This same conversation had been going on for weeks now in the Midorima household since neither one of them was boorish enough to ask the source of the coveted chalice who it was meant for.

“Don’t be preposterous, Takao. It says ‘World’s Greatest Dad.’ It’s undoubtedly my mug.”

“No. That’s a _coffee_ mug. You prefer to drink tea. If it were meant for you, she would’ve made you a teacup. It’s definitely mine.”

“That’s absurd. I’m ‘Daddy.’ Which is a diminutive for ‘Dad.’ Any fool can see it’s meant for me.”

“That proves nothing, Shin-chan. ‘Dad’ is just another word for father. I’m her Papa. She made it for me.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to follow that logic. You’re just jealous of my mug.”

Takao walked over to the cupboard, retrieved a different mug and set it down in front of his stubborn husband.

“Why would she make that for you? She knows you already have a favorite mug.” Takao pushed the second mug towards Shin-chan, a ceramic one he’d bought for the tsundere years ago at a ¥100 store. Over time, Midorima had tried to rid himself of the dastardly thing which bore the indelicate message of _Neurosurgeons Do It With the Lights On_. The darn thing had proved indestructible. Takao, of course, thought the proclamation was the height of hilarity.

“There you go, Shin-chan. Here’s your mug. Now give mine back. I’m brewing coffee.” 

Shintarō gave the store bought mug the side eye, then rolled his verdant peepers at his husband as he took an exaggerated sip from what was very plainly his father’s day present. Or he tried to anyway. “It’s sprung a leak,” he announced. He attempted to set the mug down on the counter, momentarily forgetting that of course it was lopsided and wouldn’t stay up on its own. 

“ _Shit_. I’ll get a dishrag.”

Midorima Keiko had only just started kindergarten, but it was already evident she would not be graduating with a degree in the fine arts. The stoneware in question had all the intricate design and expert craftsmanship one would naturally expect from your average five-year-old. 

In the end, neither one of her fathers had the heart to tell their little cherub that the mug she had made for one or both of them literally couldn’t hold water.

* * *

 **AN1:**  This short little prompt was originally posted on my [Tumblr](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/). I added a smidgen and cross-posted it here for those who are following the series, but not my blog. I know it's not very long and I almost didn't post it because of its brevity, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.  

 **AN2** : If you are looking for "The Koi Fish and the Pearl Necklace" it has moved to chapter 4 of [All You Need Is Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4664187/chapters/10693472). Thanks for reading!


	11. You're a Hoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on official knb owl art.

For as long as anyone could remember, Shūtoku had been a school that was perpetually low on funding. Whether it was the crowded classrooms, the overworked staff, or the dilapidated facilities, it was evident to even the most casual observer that there wasn't much moolah available to contribute to the curricula.

Thus, it came as a complete and utter shock to the third years that this year, the annual egg-baby project would be replaced by actual, live _birds_.

Ostensibly, the purpose of the egg-baby project was to prepare the third years for the hardships and responsibilities of parenthood by requiring them to take pains not to crush an egg for an entire week. Shintarō was of the opinion that the correlation between taking care of an egg and an actual human being was tenuous, at best, and ludicrous, at worst.

Shintarō recalled all too clearly when, a few years ago, it had been their senpais' turn to participate in that senior right of passage. Ōtsubo had lost his head that week, knitting tiny, cringe-inducing outfits for his little egg, including a miniature Shūtoku jersey with a number four on it which the egg would don during practice. And towards the end of that week, Kimura had accidentally run over Miyaji's "baby" -- and by extension Miyaji's home ec grade -- backing out of the school parking lot with his truck. The only things Shintarō had learned from his senpais' project was that Ōtsubo was an embarrassment, Kimura didn't look back before peeling out, and Miyaji knew a lot of creative swear words.

This year, thanks to the generosity and unfounded trust of a wealthy, yet clearly eccentric, alumnus, Shūtoku would be handing its third years owls, not eggs. For a week Shūtoku would be overtaken by a considerably large and varied collection of nocturnal birds of prey.

In Shintarō and Kazunari's case, they were both given short-eared owls, to be precise. _Look Shin-chan, we match!_ Takao had exclaimed, loudly. _It's like our kids are brothers._ Shintarō's ears did _not_ turn pink at the vague implication that their "children" were siblings and therefore he and Takao were co-parents. 

When the announcement had been made, Takao had expressed mild disappointment that the loaner birds were owls and not hawks. But his disappointment is short-lived. Takao quickly bonded with his owl. Almost immediately, he began cooing at it in baby-talk and affectionately naming it "Kazu-chan Jr.," earning a dramatic eye roll from Midorima.   

For the most part, their lives didn't change _that much_ during the week they had been bestowed with their feathery charges. They were still expected to go to classes and basketball practice, though their classrooms and the floor of the gym were certainly worse for wear because of it. 

 _Who knew owls have to go to the bathroom so often, huh Shin-chan?_ Takao had casually commented in the boy's locker room while waiting for Midorima to change his gakuran for the _third_ time that day. Shintarō eyed Takao's still clean, though perpetually disheveled, uniform with mild irritation. 

Incontinence issues aside, Shintarō unexpectedly warmed up to his bird during that week.

In Shintarō's estimation, his owl was the best of the lot. Shintarō's bird was serious, not like Takao's squaky owl. Shintarō's owl seemed studious and wise, if it were possible to ascribe such qualities to an animal who, by its very nature, did not possess the ability to read. And hardworking, Shintarō would add. His owl found its own mice in the field while the boys were running laps after a particularly long day of practice when Shintarō had inadvertently exceeded his special requests and Nakatani was in a foul mood, having grown tired of all the fowls dirtying up the floor of his gym. 

Shintarō would've described other people's owls as vermin with wings. But not _his_ owl. He was an upstanding specimen. Shintarō was convinced that if Oha Asa decreed horoscopes for animals, his owl would faithfully ascribe to them.

Up until this point, Shintarō assuredly assumed his owl was as prim and proper as he was. Shintarō was proven wrong, however, on the penultimate day of the project when he and Takao were studying together after school, as was their wont.

Shintarō was shocked, _shocked!_  to learn that his own owl was not rebuffing Takao’s owl’s advances. To the contrary, he was actively encouraging them.

“S-stop, that,” a scandalized Shintarō scolded the amorous love birds who, of course, ignored him and continue with their mating dance as if they hadn’t been interrupted by a rude, red-faced interloper. “S-stop that this instant!”

When his commands fell on deaf ears, Shintarō waved his arms erratically attempting to separate the romantic duo. Unfortunately for Midorima, the gesture had the effect of frightening the birds causing them to fly up and out of Midorima’s considerable reach. They landed on top of the tall bookshelf in the corner of Midorima's bedroom. The owls then proceed to [do it like they do on the Discovery channel](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dxat1GVnl8-k&t=ZjE2YWJmYjdlMjU0N2Q4MGE2OGM2MGE2MTc4ODIyOWM1OTZlMTlmZiw0dWN2TFpIbA%3D%3D&b=t%3Aa17JTLViY3vXbE_As3CCBw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fjmetmisc.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F152216277792%2Fyoure-a-hoot&m=1). 

The vociferous, passionate screeching that accompanied the enthusiastic lovemaking was impossible to ignore. 

Takao, of course, was no help at all. Once he caught wind of what was going on, he was literally rolling on the floor laughing.

“Stop your tomfoolery, Takao,” Shintarō yelled at him while the two owls were noisily going at it, “you’re only encouraging them.”

“I can’t help it, Shin-chan,” Takao explained as he wiped tears of amusement from his eyes. “They’re a hoot!” he quipped, laughing even louder at his own lame joke.

If Shintarō’s eyes rolled any harder, they would fall off his face. 

“Just ignore them,” a defeated Shintarō grumbled, though it wasn't clear whether he was talking to himself or Takao, “eventually they’ll get bored and stop.” 

“You know, Shin-chan,” Takao said with a teasing lilt over the loud mating sounds of their matching short-eared owls, “I was going to suggest we follow their lead.” 

* * *

**AN1:** Here is the owl porn nobody asked for. This was based on the cute KNB [official art](https://twitter.com/kurobasanime/status/772699437156093953) from a few months ago. It's short, but (hopefully) funny and largely a rework of something I posted on tumblr, but I'm in danger of losing track of my midotaka fics if I don't cross-post them all in one place, that place being AO3. Also, I'm going through some writing issues with [DLMD](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6947767/chapters/16193744) and I'm trying to work through it by rewriting this little fic.

 **AN2:** Did you know owls are considered lucky in Japan? [Source](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fowlcation.com%2Fsocial-sciences%2Fowls-in-Japanese-culture&t=N2UwZDcxZjZhZmFiZTc5MzBlM2MzNmU1ZTIwZTlkY2IxMGQ0NTA0NCw0dWN2TFpIbA%3D%3D&b=t%3Aa17JTLViY3vXbE_As3CCBw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fjmetmisc.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F152216277792%2Fyoure-a-hoot&m=1). Given their lucky properties, Shin-chan having an owl makes total sense. 

 **AN3** : I have a [tumblr](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/). Come, let's squee over these two idiots together.


	12. Picture Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to meet Kuroko and Kagami for dinner, Takao discovers that doctors have a sense of humor too.

**Picture Perfect**

“This is the _last_ time we use your sister as a babysitter,” Shintarō angrily proclaimed, forcefully jabbing one long, irritated finger into the downward facing arrow to summon the elevator.

Takao shrugged, “She was available.”

“She was forty-five minutes late!” Shintarō reminded him as they stepped into the elegant, wood-paneled elevator car. Shintarō jabbed his finger against one of the buttons again, this time pressing the letter “G” to get to the garage.

Kazunari thought it was unfair to fault his sister. Sure, she’d been a _little_ late. But she’d shown up and more importantly she’d agreed to do it on such short notice. Shin-chan had gone through a very choice and carefully compiled list of suitable babysitters for their children and Kazumi had been the absolute _last_ person he’d called. He’d even contemplated cancelling their dinner plans with Kagami and Kuroko, until Kazunari convinced him to call Kazumi.

Besides, the way Kazunari saw it, this was a win-win situation. It got him and his spouse some much needed, kid-free time conversing with other adults. Kazunari couldn’t remember the last meal he had that _didn’t_ conclude with him scrubbing some sort of pureed food substance from someone’s scrunched up, pouty face with a wet wipe.  And it also got Kazumi out of their parent’s house for a bit.

Kazunari’s sister had had a blank slate for a social calendar of late and Kazunari thought that spending some quality time with her adorable niece and nephew might cheer her up.  

“And she better not eat my Belgian chocolates,” Shintarō grumbled. Midorima Shintarō thought he’d hid them well the last time, but the woman was like a truffle pig or a bloodhound.

Kazumi had a penchant for snooping around the penthouse when left to her own devices. And that was never a good thing. _You giant, spinach-headed pervert! Is that my high school cheerleading uniform stuffed in the very back of your closet inside that ski jacket?! I’m gonna murder you and my brother! Wait till I tell Mom about this._ A shiver ran down Shintarō’s spine at the mere recollection of the verbal shellacking Kazumi had given him.

“Well, she _has_ been stress eating lately,” Kazunari conceded. Kazumi had a tendency to drown her sorrows in a tub of Rocky Road, but everyone had their own coping mechanisms and who was Kazunari to judge.

“She’s like a human vacuum cleaner.” Shintarō muttered under his breath as they made the short trip towards Shintarō’s luxury sedan parked in its choice reserved spot next to the elevators.

“Hey, Shin-chan,” Kazunari said, tapping Shintarō on the shoulder before they got into the car. “Let me borrow your phone for a sec.”

Shintarō looked back at the shorter man behind him. “What for?” he asked.

“Well, it’s already nine o’clock. We should probably text Kuroko and let him know we’re running late.”

“What happened to your phone?” Shintarō inquired because they had literally just left their penthouse.

Kazunari smiled sheepishly. “I sort of forgot it upstairs.”

Shintarō rolled his eyes. “Idiot,” he muttered as he fished his own phone out of the breast pocket of his bespoke suit jacket and proceeded to hand it to his forgetful spouse.

Kazunari unlocked Midorima’s phone by typing the digits of his November birthdate into the keypad. He clicked on the green text message icon intent on shooting off a quick text to Kuroko, but then he saw Midorima had an unread text.

Kazunari's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“Holy fucking shit!” he exclaimed, before cupping a hand over the crotch of his dress slacks in sympathy. “I think I just threw up a little. You better not be cheating on me. And with _that_ . . . ” Kazunari used his thumb and pointer finger to zoom in on the picture. “That looks really painful.”

Shintarō yanked the phone from his noisy spouse, because Kazunari was spouting nonsense. Even though he knew Kazunari was not being serious, he found the mere suggestion of an extramarital affair repulsive.  

Shintarō took mere seconds to examine the photograph displayed on the screen of his phone. “Condylomata acuminata,” he proclaimed without batting an eye.  

“Wha -?” Kazunari had no idea what his spouse just said. As far as Kazunari was concerned, Shintarō may as well be speaking in tongues.

Shintarō sighed as if the ensuing explanation would zap all the dwindling patience he had left. “The hospital is trying out a new mobile diagnostic program. They’ve signed up all the residents.”

Kazunari raised a quizzical eyebrow. Shintarō had not been a resident in years (thank goodness that whole exercise in sleep deprivation was well behind them) and more importantly, “…. But you’re a neurosurgeon,” he noted.   

Shintarō gave his spouse a look that could only be interpreted as the nonverbal equivalent of, _No shit_. And then he proceeded to state the obvious. “My telephone number got submitted to the program. It’s someone’s idea of a practical joke.”

As soon as Shintarō’s words registered in his brain, Kazunari started cackling loudly. Who knew those stuffed lab coats Shin-chan worked with had a sense of humor?

“Shin-chan, that’s hysterical,” he said, wiping a tear of merriment from his eye.   

“I’ve been getting texts like this one all week,” Shintarō recounted matter-of-factly.

Kazunari laughed even harder. “Oh man, Shin-chan. Stop. You’re making my sides hurt.” Kazunari was nearly doubled over with laughter.

When he finally recovered, Kazunari straightened up. “Hey Shin-chan,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Does this mean I can start sending you dick pics again?”

Shintarō’s face turned a lovely shade of vine-ripened tomato in response to Kazunari’s words. He recalled all too vividly what happened the last time Kazunari had sent him one of those texts.

“No,” he said firmly and then abruptly ducked into the car.

Kazunari scrambled to get into the passenger seat before Shin-chan left him behind.

* * *

 

 **AN1:** To find out what happened the last time Takao sent Shin-chan a dick pic read this [ fic ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F2725688%2Fchapters%2F6145694&t=YmJkY2ViYTliZDM2ZmFmOGRiYmE2MmI3ZjM2YjRhMTZiZGRlOGI4OCxmeEp3ajdTNg%3D%3D&b=t%3Aa17JTLViY3vXbE_As3CCBw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fjmetmisc.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F155949469957%2Fmidotaka-minific-picture-perfect&m=1).

 **AN2:** So I saw this [ post](http://sarcasticallymeggo.tumblr.com/post/155946240528/fakepreme-to-dr-oscaruclahealthnet) on my dash on tumblr and of course I instantly thought of MidoTaka. It’s funny to me, but I’ve got a warped sense of humor. Are MidoTaka mini-fics something ppl would be interested in reading?  

 


	13. The Twit and the Nitwitt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao has a lover's spat and doesn't realize he's fighting on two fronts.

**The Twit and the Nitwit**

“Whatever you do, don’t get a girlfriend,” Takao declared before unceremoniously plopping himself down at a mostly empty lunch table. Midorima Shintarō, the lone inhabitant of said lunch table, practically had to scramble out of the way to avoid being sat on.

Shintarō was irritated with Takao for reasons he could not freely say. He merely cast a disapproving frown at the uninvited dining companion and continued eating his meticulous prepared and well-balanced bento like a civilized human being. Nanny Hamasaki had even packed him a snack for later, mochi with oshuruko paste filling.

Shintarō permitted himself a small smile as he pondered the prospect of such a delectable dessert. It graced his lips quickly, lasting mere moments before his face returned to its usual somber continence.  

A less preoccupied Takao would have teased his reticent teammate mercilessly in response to such a rare sight. But alas, the hawkeye was none the wiser, staring intently at his phone as he repeatedly refreshed his texting application.  

Shintarō noted that Takao had purchased a yakisoba pan from the cafeteria. Although Shintarō tried not to clutter his mind with such useless information, it was hard not to take stock given how _loudly_ and distractedly Takao was one-handedly removing the food from its crinkled cellophane prison -- presumably unconcerned with its high caloric content and negligible nutritional value.

Midorima Shintarō decided right then and there that Takao Kazunari was a poor decision maker, though the evidence of that was mounting by the minute.

Takao was fidgety, compulsively checking his phone like it was a newly developed nervous tick he’d sprouted on the way to the cafeteria.

The point guard’s inattentiveness caused him to miss his mouth entirely and smear sauce on the side of his face. Having forgotten to pick up paper napkins, Takao merely wiped his face with the cuff of his uniform.

Shintarō scowled in disgust at the appalling display of missing manners. Yet it didn’t stop him from salivating at the disheveled specimen before him. It didn’t stop the shooting guard from continuing to stare at his teammate’s mouth well past the point of social acceptability.

Takao had missed a spot. There was a small brownish dot of yakisoba sauce gracing the corner of the hawkeye’s plump bottom lip. Shintarō felt the sudden urge to taste the tangy, aromatic flavor on his own tongue.

Red faced and flustered at the unwholesome entirely unbidden image, Shintarō returned his attention to his own lunch. Moments ago, it had seemed sensible and nutrient-rich and perfectly satisfying. Now, it seemed boring and bland in comparison to the tasty morsel sitting beside him.

Takao put the sandwich down to run a frustrated hand through dark raven locks, before shooting off a rapid series of text messages. 

Shintarō supposed Takao now had sauce in his hair too. It was difficult to tell given the dark hue of the mop of hair that was often in dissray, but never unpleasantly so. Midorima found himself wondering if those dark raven strands were as soft to the touch as they looked.     

He was well aware of the source of his teammate’s distraction. Leggy and buxom, he supposed he could see the appeal if he squinted hard enough, though it certainly wasn’t Shintarō’s cup of tea. Evidently Takao preferred his cups running over.

Shintarō knew her name of course, he simply refused to utter it. On principle, of course, because Takao’s love life was of no concern to him and not at all because he was consumed with jealousy.

They’d had their first huge fight. Takao and his paramour. It had been loud and public and glorious. The uncharitable, petty side of Shintarō was filled with unbridled glee.

The lover’s quarrel had arisen over Takao’s extra practices in the gym at night with the team’s ace. This was odd given that Takao’s newly vaunted status as one of two first years to be selected for the basketball team had been the impetus for her confession in the first place. The impetus for his hasty acceptance had been two-fold, D-sized and obnoxiously perky.  

“I’m telling you Shin-chan,” Takao spoke with his mouth full, eyeing his phone undoubtedly waiting for a response and paying minimal attention to his lunchtime companion, “women are nothing but trouble.”

“Duly noted,” Shintarō said dryly. It wasn’t as if he could envision a scenario in his life where he would find such unsolicited advice useful. Takao may as well have been warning him about charging rhinos. That being said, he couldn’t help but begin to feel a little hopeful.

And since Takao seemed to be wising up to the error of his ways, seemed ready to cast off this large-chested albatross, Shintarō plucked up the courage to propose that they meet on Saturday for a one-on-one at the basketball court and perhaps aftewards they could find someplace to eat.

“Can’t.” Takao said checking his phone again, “Just scored a date with--”

“To hell with you then,” Shintarō responded with more anger than he’d cared to divulge.

“Eh?” a clueless Takao finally looked up at his teammate. “What’s with you?” he asked, genuinely perplexed by the sudden frost in Midorima’s voice.  

Shintarō had had it with this dolt who was displaying Aomine-levels of stupidity. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, you're an even bigger idiot than I had originally presumed,” he said quickly gathering his books and storming off in a huff.

* * *

 **AN1:** This one is based on [tumblr prompts](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/post/159011197147/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy).  **# 16 First huge fight**. It takes place very early on in the series, pre-relationship, first few weeks at school when the boys are still getting to know each other. 

 **AN2:** Part 2 of this fic is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024528/chapters/25393896).  


	14. A New Dance Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kazunari cuts a rug with a new boy.

**A New Dance Partner**  

He may have been balder, significantly shorter, more doughy, much younger, and less coordinated than Kazunari was used to, but Kazunari found he rather enjoyed his new dance partner.

And while this new collaborator was not much of a conversationalist -- not yet anyway -- he was indisputably a great listener.

Well, when he wasn't wailing at the top of his lungs. 

"When you're older," Kazunari told his infant son, "you should ask Daddy to teach you how to slow dance," he said taking a stroll around the nursery with Kichiro in his arms to demonstrate the procedure.

Kazunari cupped Kichiro's head and gingerly placed it on his shoulder. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hoping the gentle rhythmic swaying of his own body would lull Kichiro back to sleep.

Twenty-some odd minutes ago, when Kazunari had rushed into the nursery -- heart jackhammering in his chest and baby monitor in hand -- the tiny tot had been red-faced, crying angrily as he kicked and squirmed in his crib.

Kazunari was grateful that Kichi-chan’s insistent wails had not woken up his sister this time.

Situating the kids' rooms beside each other had seemed like a good idea, until they'd put it into practice. But by the time the children had arrived, so had the furniture and the decor and Kichi-chan’s very heavy crib had been put in its place and it had been too late to do anything about the location of the bedrooms.

Kazunari began to quietly hum a tune he'd heard Shintarō play on the piano the other day.

Having spent the past decade living with a classically trained music prodigy -- first as a boyfriend, then a fiancé, and now a husband -- Kazunari had memorized quite the repertoire of hits ranging from Bach to Schubert and almost anything in between.

Shin-chan had a thing for Viennese composers and so naturally there was a heavy concentration of those in Kazunari's musical memory bank.  
  
It was a tune Kichiro must've liked, or at the very least recognized from the other day, because the baby stopped fussing for a moment to listen to his father's vocal chords vibrate quietly near his ear.

You wouldn't have guessed it by looking at him -- all stiff and stuffy and stuck-up -- but Shintarō was a formidable dancer. Shin-chan did not do things half-assed. Any thing that was worth Shintarō's time, he mastered. 

It also helped that he could keep time and rhythm like he'd swallowed a metronome -- which shouldn't have been astounding in the least, given that he'd spent most of his life at the piano bench.

It hadn't hurt that Shintarō's mother had sprang for formal dance lessons back when she'd been convinced her young son would be courting ladies of suitable social standing when he was older. Boy had she been in for a surprise.

Kazunari had once overheard his sister and her gossipy girlfriends giggling over how good dance moves were a strong indicator of a man's performance in other, more intimate spaces. And while Kazunari only had a sample size of one, he thought the rule held true in Shin-chan's case.  

Kazunari may have had all the DDR dance moves down pat back in his younger days, slaying it at the arcade, coming second only to Kise who had a built-in copycat, unfair advantage, but Shintarō too was excellent dancer.

Shin-chan was not one to embrace modernity. He preferred old fashioned dances, the kind that would be right at home in an 18th century ballroom accompanied by a full-sized orchestra or at the very least, a string quartet.   
  
Of course, Kichiro had only just mastered the art of holding up his own head, so things like the waltz and the contredanse and the minuet were still far off in the horizon -- even if Grandma Midorima would likely insist that he and Keiko-chan take formal dance lessons too. 

Father and son were mostly calm now, though Kazunari still hadn't figured out what had whipped the infant up into such a fit. Kichi-chan's diaper had been dry and he hadn't been hungry when Kazunari had tried offering him a bottle.

Kichi-chan felt warm to the touch, but that was to be expected given that he'd been crying and before that he'd been asleep.

Kazunari supposed Kichi-chan was learning to be a baby the way he himself was learning to be a father. It was a new state of being for both of them and perhaps they hadn't quite gotten the hang of it.  

Kazunari kissed the top of the baby's head and gently rubbed his son's back. Kichiro's head, like his chubby cheeks, was damp from all the energy he'd expended crying. 

Kichi-chan had been quite vocal at first when Kazunari had entered the room, sputtering at times. But by now, he'd been soothed by his father. He'd grown quiet save for the occasional heavy sigh. 

Kazunari could tell the baby was about to drop like a stone, his eyelids were getting droopier and his head was leaning heavier on Kazunari's shoulder. 

"Don't let him tell you otherwise," Kazunari said, continuing his mostly one-sided conversation from moments ago. "Daddy's really great at dancing." Wherever he felt the need arise, Kichi-chan had filled in the momentary gaps of silence with a bit of babble.

"He can show you how to do the foxtrot and the bolero and the paso doble." Kazunari recounted all the different dances Daddy knew. 

Kichiro was all snuggly in his fuzzy, footed pajamas -- the ones with little sheep jumping over tiny logs.

Kazunari nuzzled the baby's sleep warmed, downy hair and tried to stifle a yawn. Perhaps they could take a long nap in the morning if Keiko-chan would be so kind to indulge them.   
  
The father of two was grateful his conference call wasn't till noon and that he merely had to attend by video and not in person. 

In what now seemed like a past life, instead of a few short weeks ago, Kazunari had been a columnist at a small sports publication. And while he was still writing his column from home, he was no longer calling any shots. He wasn't even planning on contributing much to this afternoon's meeting. All Kazunari had to do was literally phone it in. 

It was past four in the morning now. Kazunari knew they would soon encounter Shintarō getting ready for work. They'd be able to greet him and send him off to the hospital. 

"Let's go say good morning to Daddy, shall we?" Kazunari suggested and then led the way. 

* * *

 **AN** : From the [tumblr prompts](http://jmetmisc.tumblr.com/post/159011197147/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy).  **# 22 slow dancing**. For Sleepy, my fellow MidoTaka and Vikturi shipper. This is not the dance partner you were expecting, but I hope you enjoyed the fic anyway.


	15. Well Hung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given enough rope, Shin-chan will use it.

**Well Hung**

"Are you serious?" Takao cackled loudly as he let his head fall back against the red velvet couch. "How big are we talking about?"

"Can't even stand up on its own," Kuroko said solemnly. "Too heavy," he explained.

Takao's eyes bulged as his jaw dropped. " _Seriously_?" he asked, sounding thoroughly impressed.

Kuroko nodded vigorous and Takao gasped audibly.

"I can show you a picture, if you'd like," Kuroko offered.

"Alright," Takao agreed as he eagerly scooted closer to Kuroko to have a look at Kuroko's phone.

"Himuro-kun sent it to Kagami-kun who sent it to me," Kuroko explained. "See,” he said. “It's just sitting there between his legs."

"No way!" Takao exclaimed. "It's enormous!"

"It is indeed," Kuroko agreed. "Himuro-kun nearly cried when he saw it. He told Kagami-kun he's not sure he can handle it. He wants to give it a good home, but he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do with it or where he's gonna stick it."

Shintarō slammed his lucky pencil down rather loudly. He had had enough of this crude conversation. He got up from his perch at the dining room table where he'd been trying to study -- _trying_ being the operative word.

He was in med school, so naturally he had a lot of school work and Takao, by comparison, had a lot of down time. They shared an apartment and so Shintarō tried not to mind so much when Takao had friends over but _this_ , this was beyond the pail.

The tsundere walked over to the living room to chastise the gossiping hens. "Has it occurred to either of you that perhaps Himuro does not want people discussing such a sensitive subject matter?"

A perplexed Takao and Kuroko looked up at a towering Shintarō as if he'd just sprouted nonsense.

Leave it to these two twits to not understand the concept of privacy. "For goodness' sake," an exasperated Shintarō sighed. "Is there _anything_ you two tarts won't talk about?"

Takao suddenly turned defensive. "Well, if Himuro didn't want people to know," he said. "If it's such a big _secret_ ," Takao waved his arms around as if to emphasize the absurdity of it all, "he wouldn't have told Kagami," he concluded. " _Everyone_ knows Kagami tells Kuroko _everything_."

Kuroko nodded dutifully as if he was in full agreement with that statement.

"Once again, Takao, your logic is unassailable," a cross-armed Midorima grumbled.

Takao smiled broadly at his boyfriend. "Why thank you, Shin-chan," he chirped with a sense of misplaced pride.

"That was sarcasm, you idiot," Shintarō snapped. "Honestly, it's as if Kise's stupidity is contagious.

"Hey!" a hitherto silent Ryōta protested from his seat on the floor at the foot of the couch. "Midorimacchi's so meee-"

"Shut up Kise, this doesn't concern you." Midorima quickly barked back to stymie the incessant whining that was sure to follow. "Go back to swiping right on your dating app."

"Has it occurred to you that Himuro shared this information with Kagami, _in confidence_?" Shintarō asked, addressing the two offenders.

". . . Shin-chan," Takao drawled, eyeing his boyfriend with suspicion. "Why are you getting so worked up about this?"

Midorima balked at the question. "It's a matter of basic human decency," he said incensed. "I don't think Himuro would want people blathering about such a private part of his boyfriend's anatomy."

"Anatomy?" Takao parroted back. "Wait," he said, "You thought we, _bwhaahahaaha_ \- - " Takao pointed at Midorima and laughed.

"Shut-up, Takao," Shintarō said, as if that had ever worked.

"Shin- -" Takao laughed so hard he could hardly speak "-- Shin-chan, you thought we were talking about Murasakibara's -- _oh man_ , I can't even breathe," Takao wheezed.

An affronted Shintarō yelled back, "Well, what the hell else could you be talking about?"

Takao took one long look at his furiously blushing boyfriend before burying his face between the seat cushions. The gesture did little to muffle his laughter.

"A large puppy," Kuroko said, cluing Shintarō in on the topic of conversation.

_Oh._

Midorima recognized a lost cause when he saw one. With as much dignity as he could muster given the circumstances, Shintarō held his head up high and promptly retreated to the relative sanctuary of his bedroom.

But before he closed the door to shutout the loud guffaws coming from the living room, he yelled, "Enjoy the couch, Takao. That's where you'll be sleeping tonight."

"What?" The laughter died abruptly. "No. Shin-chan _wait_!"


	16. The Rumor Mill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao copes with a loss. Shintarō resists the urge to smack him. Ryōta dispenses unsolicited advice.

**The Rumor Mill** (a continuation of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024528/chapters/23180619))

Shintarō heard it first. He'd heard it last night. It had come straight from the horse's mouth. 

Not that he’d needed the forewarning. In any event, it wouldn't have taken long for the news to reach his ears given how quickly it had spread — like wildfire — throughout the school by the time he’d arrived the following morning. It was amazing how swiftly the Shūtoku student body flapped their gums when the gossip was good. And given how much unwarranted interest there was in Takao Kazunari’s love life, the rumor mill was in full swing. It was downright shameful.

Try as he might, there was no concealing the dark circles under Shintarō’s eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink. Shintarō had been nervous about seeing Takao the following morning. He’d been tossing and turning all night thinking about what he’d say to Takao, seeing him for the first time --- after the breakup.

Out of consideration for Takao’s feelings, Shintarō had suggested that they make their own way to school. It had been a gesture of goodwill on Shintarō’s part. He didn't think Takao would feel like pedaling the rearcar given the current state of things. And Shintarō could always ask Nanny to drive him to school after she'd dropped off Shuzuko.

But Takao had insisted on taking the rickshaw, swooping in to pick Shintarō up from his doorstep, like normal.

And therein lied the problem. Everything was exactly like it had always been between them. Absolutely _nothing_ had changed.

As expected there was no shortage of side-long glances aimed at Takao by the time they'd reached the shoe locker at school. Or rather, there was no shortage of _interested_ parties, queueing up eagerly to be the next in line, Shintarō noted with disdain. He practically hissed at one brave soul who’d dared to bat her eyelashes at the point guard as she deliberately crossed his path.

Shintarō was annoyed by the outpouring of sympathy that was directed at Takao. It was _too_ one-sided. Surely, it took two to tango. And if Shintarō were to assign fault -- well, it didn't look good for the point guard. Then again, it wasn’t hard to fathom why the girls in their class were swirling around a newly back-on-the-market Takao like there was blood in the water, like Takao was an injured seal pup moments before a feeding frenzy.

Midorima supposed it was inevitable. After all, Takao was popular. A talented athlete with an easy laugh. He was well-liked and dare Shintarō say it, handsome. A pair of mischievous eyes and a devil-may-care grin. Even if Shintarō pretended to be immune to Takao’s charms, the evidence of Takao’s effect on others was overwhelming. Unlike Shintarō, Takao was easygoing and approachable. He had what people commonly referred to as a magnetic personality. He was everything Midorima was not. Takao Kazunari would have no trouble finding a replacement.  

 _Takao-kun, here's my number if you ever need someone to talk to. A sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on_ , said one industrious, pigtailed candidate who'd clearly hoped Takao would take her up on the later. She’d been undeterred by the invisible barrier Midorima hoped he was casting with his disapproving scowl.

Takao had chuckled at the not-so-subtle overture, but he'd also reached for the perfumed digits that had been extended to him on a piece of washi paper. Shintarō -- who'd been an unfortunate bystander to this disgraceful display of opportunism and teenage lust -- had slammed the door to his shoe locker in indignation before storming off to his classroom.

“Shin-chan! Hey, wait up.” Takao caught up to Midorima’s long strides. It was not as if Midorima doubted he would. Shintarō could count on one sports-taped hand, with fingers to spare, the number of times Takao had failed to trot after him.

There was a slew of empirical evidence. Stolen glances, uncharacteristically shy smiles, casual touches that were seemingly unnecessary -- it all should’ve added up to _something_ . And it wasn’t as if Shintarō was the only one who noticed, the merciless taunts from their senpais -- the amount of times Miyaji-senpai had threatened the both of them with projectile fruit exceeded the number of fingers (sports-taped or not) and toes on Shintarō’s person and then some. And yet there was nothing _there_ , nothing concrete that Shintarō could pin his hopes on. Nothing in the slightest. Not even now, when the clingy, 156-centimeter, buxom impediment had been removed.

Takao had broken the news to Shintarō as if he were commenting idly on the weather. Takao had casually mentioned it while passing the ball to Midorima during their nightly after-practice second practice.

When it was dark outside, when it was just the two of them sweating under the harsh, hot lights.

During those times, the empty gymnasium took on an otherworldly feel. The squeak of rubber soles against a polished floor, the echo of a basketball bouncing rhythmically between them, the sound amplified loudly in a way it never could at other times when the gym was teaming with people. It was at those times that Shintarō felt most hopeful, where he allowed himself to forget his troubles, where he dared to dream. It was there were he felt most comfortable in his own skin and where he basked in Takao’s companionship.  

That is, until Takao decided to drop an anvil on him. And Shintarō had had to pretend like it was not an earth shattering announcement -- as if the wind being knocked out of him had been caused by the force of Takao’s pass.

In fact, Shintarō’s response had been something along the lines of, _Tch. As if I care, fool._ At least, that’s what he thought he’d said. Shintarō could not be certain of his exact phrasing, after all he’d been having an out of body experience at the time. His brain had short-circuited, unable to process much else given the gravity of the situation.

In any event, Shintarō had insisted to Takao that it didn't concern him even as his mind reeled from the announcement.

Takao had laughed at him and called him a tsundere before chasing after the ball Shintarō had somehow sunk into the basket, seemingly on autopilot.  

After that, there was nothing remarkable about their behavior. It was an ordinary weeknight just like so many before it. 

And therein lied the problem.

Shintarō shouldn't have been surprised. He'd said to himself on countless occasions that it was only a matter of time before Takao grew tired of his relationship. Shintarō had meant it as a coping mechanism. Something he told himself to keep the panic from rising up where it resided in the pit of his stomach. But he hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Now that it had _actually_ occurred. Now that the much anticipated, prayed-for, hoped-for event was here, he couldn’t help but feel let down.

 _Absolutely nothing_ had changed for Shintarō. His alarm clock had gone off that morning like normal. He’d blindly pawed at his night table until he located his glasses, checked his horoscope before daring to get out of bed. Texted Takao Cancer's lucky item so that Takao could fetch it for him. Brushed his teeth, relieved himself, showered, gotten dressed for school -- in that exact order.

He'd gone downstairs, ignored his mother who was having one of her episodes in the living room. He'd played with Shuzuko until the doorbell rang.

Takao had still pedaled the rickshaw to Shintarō's home early that morning, still teased Shintarō good naturedly about his lucky item as he handed them over to their temporary custodian -- Takao had nicked the purloined goods from his little sister while she was still sleeping.

Hopefully Kazumi did not have cheerleading practice that afternoon. Otherwise, she'd have no trouble piecing everything together and finding the culprits. She was surprisingly vindictive for a middle schooler.

It had been a calculated risk. Shintarō knew that. If caught, he and Takao would be in a heap of trouble. But where else was Shintarō supposed to get a pair of pompoms this early in the day? It was not as if the sporting goods store was open before ten.

He'd take his chances. Cancer was relatively high in the rankings, just like it had been the day before. He didn't want to tempt fate by not having his lucky item, today of all days -- the morning after.

Shintarō was not sure what he'd expected to come out of all this. After all, he and Takao already spent copious amounts of time together. They sat beside each other in class. Ate lunch together more often than not. Went to basketball practice and walked or pedaled home together every night. It was not like any of that would change with a newly single Takao.

Even so, Shintarō felt frustrated with how little effect this momentous event had on his daily interactions with Takao.

Ordinarily, Nanny would pack Shintarō’s lunch -- a well balanced and healthy bento. It was better tasting and more nutritious than anything Shūtoku’s cafeteria had to offer, but today was Takoyaki Tuesday which Takao seemed to go gaga for. Shintarō pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. There was no sense in bringing a lunch today.

Takao had gone to fetch his wallet which he'd forgotten at his desk in Nakatani-sensei’s classroom. Honestly, if Takao’s head wasn't attached to his neck, he'd misplace that too, the fool.

Shintarō’s phone rang while he was patiently waiting his turn in the unending lunch line. The number on the phone’s screen was not one Shintarō recognized. Against his better judgment, he answered it.  
  
"Midorimacchi!" Ryōta yelled excitedly and Midorima had to hold the phone several centimeters away from his ear lest he risk permanent hearing loss. 

“What is this number you're calling from,” Shintarō demanded because he was certain he'd blocked Ryōta’s mobile.

“It's a payphone, Midorimacchi.”

“A payphone --” Shintarō echoed. “Why in the world --”

"Well if I called you from my cell, you wouldn't answer, silly," Ryōta chortled, as if this was some chummy game the two of them played often.

“What is it you want?” Shintarō hissed because really and truly, he had no time for Ryōta's nonsense. Shintarō shook one of his pompoms because a call from Kise was never a good omen and he needed all the good luck he could get.

“ _Midorimacchi_ ,” Ryota mock-scolded in that annoying sing-songy voice of his, “is that any way to greet your dearest and most handsome friend?”

“We are _not_ friends!” Shintarō protested.

Ryōta continued babbling as if Shintarō hadn't said a word.

“I'm calling to offer you my help.” Ryōta explained. “As we all know, I’m an expert in the art of seduction. And . . . let’s face it . . . you're not the most . . . charismatic of persons. You lack a certain . . . _warmth_.”  

“Get to the point, fool!” Midorima’s patience was wearing thin and he didn’t have much to begin with.

"The point _is_ , Midorimacchi,” Ryōta paused for dramatic effect, “now that Takaocchi is a free man. It's your time to pounce.”

“ _Good-bye_ , Kise.” Honestly, Midorima did not have time for Ryōta's shenanigans. He didn’t even want to know how word of Takao’s romantic free agency had spread to Kaijō.

“Wait. Midorimacchi. I can _help_.”

Midorima sincerely doubted that. Kise Ryōta had never been of any help to anyone in his entire life. In fact, Midorima couldn’t think of anyone more useless if he tried. And _that_ was saying something given that Midorima had the misfortune of knowing both Aomine _and_ Murasakibara. Still, there was a small part of Midorima that wondered if he could confide in Kise.  

There was a part of Midorima that was acutely aware that he was different. Ryōta was right. Midorima wasn’t charismatic or warm. He was harsh and abrasive. And people tended to avoid him. Some were even afraid of him. He knew he wasn’t like the others. He was holding pompoms for crying out loud. He had a feeling his life would be a lot more difficult if it weren’t for his considerable height and his vaunted status as the basketball team’s ace.

Most people did not engage Midorima in conversation. Hardly anyone outside the basketball club spoke to him at school. But Takao was not like that. Takao actively sought Midorima out. Takao talked to Midorima incessantly. Takao seemed to enjoy Midorima’s company.

If Ryōta was offering to help, maybe Midorima should take him up on it. “Kise, do you think I’m - -- ”

“-- I've got the perfect solution for you Midorimaachi. I was at a photoshoot last week and they had this magazine article on how to give good head --”

 _Click_. Kise Ryota was an _idiot_.

"Who was that Shin-chan?” 

“Ahh!” Midorima nearly jumped out of his skin when Takao flung his arm around him. “D-don’t sneak up on people!” he yelled.

The rest of the day progressed much like that morning. But it wasn’t until he and Takao were in the locker room getting dressed for practice that the condolences really started flying. Shintarō wasn’t sure why everyone had assumed it was Takao who had been the dumpee.

“It’s a shame,” Kimura-senpai lamented. “Nat-chan has such a great rack.”

“Oh?” Miyaji-senpai chimed in, feigning surprise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Shintarō rolled his eyes as soon as he ascertained that it was safe to do so, as soon as Miyaji-senpai pulled his practice jersey over his head, momentarily blocking Shintarō and everyone else from view. Shintarō did not want to provoke his hot-headed, easily agitated-senpai, lest Miyaji-senpai threaten to murder Shintarō with a pineapple, _again_.

Miyaji-senpai’s professed ignorance of Natsumi-kun’s sizeable attributes would be more believable if Shintarō hadn’t caught the small forward standing on the other side of the chainlink fence staring slack-jawed and starry-eyed at Natsumi jumping rope ever so slowly in her tiny, school-issued gym shorts during the First Year’s compulsory physical education period.

And it wasn’t just their perverted senpai who was mesmerized by the bouncy bounce of taut cotton/polyester blend, Takao too had had a hard time keeping his tongue from lolling out of his mouth like an imbecile. He’d had trouble maintaining eye contact with Natsumi-kun in gym class, eyes dropping to chest-level, seeming to find the stretched-to-the-brink Shūtoku logo emblazoned on a fitted tee-shirt of great interest.

“Yeah,” Takao said staring wistfully at no one in particular, like he was recalling a very fond, dear memory. “I’m really going to miss those,” he said in a dream like trance. “ _Her._ Uh, I meant, I’m really going to miss _her_ ,” he quickly corrected himself, turning a little red faced.

Miyaji-senpai cast a knowing smile at Takao and patted him convivially on the back. Shintarō fought the urge to wipe his glasses in disbelief. He’d never seen their senpai act so chummy towards the First Years.

“They were really nice --,” Takao said, having reached rock bottom and continuing to dig himself a new low. “I mean. _She_. She was really nice.”

“Quite the handful,” he added in a way that made Shintarō question whether Takao meant it literally.

Shintarō did not need to wonder for long. Moments later -- when the point guard put his hands out like he was holding a basketball in each one -- there was no mistaking his meaning. Midorima Shintarō was surrounded by pigs.  

Takao let out a strangled whimper and for the first time since he’d learned of the breakup, Shintarō actually thought Takao might cry. 

“That’s alright champ,” Miyaji said to Takao, in a most empathetic tone. “It’s to be expected. After all, you’re just like any red-blooded male.”

Shintarō bristled at Miyaji-senpai’s words. He hated that expression. He too had red blood coursing through his veins and he too was male. Yet he was not afflicted by the same lustful malady that seemed to infect the majority of the student body.

Ōtsubo-senpai too came to Takao’s side to console him.

Out of all their senpai, Shintarō thought their captain to be the most mature and level headed. It was probably no coincidence that Ōtsubo-senpai was also the only one with a steady, long-term girlfriend. Ōtsubo-senpai was often the voice of reason. He was the glue that held the team together. If anyone could give Takao solid advice it was Ōtsubo-senpai.

“Hang in there kid,” Ōtsubo-senpai said bumping Takao’s shoulder with his fist. “If you get lonely, Mikki-chan could introduce you to some of her girlfriends.”

Midorima nearly squawked in indignation at the offer and almost instantaneously felt consumed with a strong dislike for their captain.

It was only quelled by Takao’s response. “Thanks Captain, but I think I should concentrate on basketball from now on.”  

Shintarō felt his shoulders drop, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Besides,” Takao said, shutting the metal door of his locker and slamming Midorima with the full-brunt of his mega-watt smile. “Who’s got time for girls when I’ve got my hands full with Shin-chan.”

“Kimura! The pineapple.”

* * *

 

 **AN1** : Okay so horrible author confession time. I _know_ I've named Takao's ex-girlfriend before but I can't remember which story I talked about her. If you've stumbled upon her name when reading the series, please let me know so I can fix it here. 

 **AN2** : Also, please feel free to leave a comment. It can get pretty lonely here.   


	17. Bedside Manner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao catches a cold, Shin-chan plays long-distance caretaker.

**Bedside Manner**

Having a doctor for a husband had its advantages. For one thing, Kazunari did not have to travel very far to seek medical attention. All he had to do was roll over in bed.

“Shin-chan,” he croaked. “I think I'm dying.”

“Oh for the love of --” Midorima began to complain, but he still reached for his glasses resting on the nightstand, took off his nightcap, and got up to walk down the hall to retrieve his medical kit from his study.

“Shin-chan, it’s cold!” Kazunari complained, when Shintarō placed the stethoscope on his bare skin.

“Well, it shouldn’t be.” Midorima had warmed the instrument with his breath before placing it on Kazunari’s back. “Breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth,” he told the hawkeye. Shintarō repeated the instruction several more times as he moved the chestpiece from left to right along the upper and lower lobes of Kazunari’s lungs, listening intently for any abnormalities.

Shintarō placed his hands on Kazunari’s neck, using three of his fingers he checked for swollen lymph nodes.

“This is kind of a turn-on, Shin-chan.” Kazunari said because he’d never pass up an opportunity to flirt with Midorima. After all, Kazunari was merely sick and not dead. “You do this to all your patients?”

“You are not my patient. And hold still,” Midorima scolded. Shintarō took this as the perfect opportunity to stuff a thermometer into Kazunari’s mouth and shut him up for a bit. Buying himself a moment of peace and quiet as he checked Kazunari’s blood pressure and pulse.

Ordinarily, Midorima would use latex gloves during an examination, ordinarily his patients would be wearing some sort of paper gown and not sitting up in his bed naked, sporting the gradually receding remnants of nocturnal penile tumescence. But this was not an ordinary medical examination and Kazunari was not a patient. It would be an enormous breach of medical ethics to be romantically involved with a patient.

“Mmfff mfmnnf nnmmff,” Kazunari mumbled when moments later the thermometer beeped and Midorima showed no intention of removing it.

With a sigh, Shintarō pulled the thermometer from Kazunari’s mouth. Almost instantly the chatter began again.

“What’s it say? Am I dying?”

Midorima rolled his pretty green eyes. The digital display read 37.4 degrees. On the higher side of normal, but to be expected given that Kazunari had just woken up. “It says you’re an idiot,” he said as he wiped the tip of the thermometer with an alcohol swab and placed it back in his medical kit.

Shintarō concluded his examination by checking Kazunari’s tonsils. “If you don’t open wide enough, I’m going to use the tongue depressor,” he warned after several unsuccessful attempts at peering into the back of Kazunari’s throat.

“Aww, don’t do that, Shin-chan. I’ll gag. You know I can’t stand having anything at the back of my throat.”

Midorima raised an eyebrow pointedly at that blatant falsehood.

“Well, what do you think doc?”

“I think you should start wearing clothes to bed,” he told Kazunari.

Sore throat. Watery eyes. In Midorima’s professional opinion, Kazunari had caught a cold. Midorima pulled the covers up to Kazunari’s neck. “Get some rest, drink plenty of fluids.”

Shintarō pressed his lips to Kazunari’s forehead, before getting up to take a quick shower.

Kazunari texted his boss. _Staying home today, doctor’s orders_.

###

Kazunari’s cell phone buzzed around ten in the morning.

Shintarō didn't call Kazunari from work in the mornings often. Most days he was in surgery at that time and Kazunari had his own job. The hawkeye’s mornings often consisted of brainstorming sessions with the staff and meetings with his editor.

Shintarō called in between patients to see how Kazunari was doing. Of course, the tsundere didn't exactly own up to it. Instead he'd called with the thinly veiled excuse that he'd left his tea whisk drying on the kitchen counter and wanted Kazunari to put it away in the cupboard, before asking how Kazunari was feeling.

Kazunari felt like he’d gotten run over by a truck. His whole body ached. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a hedgehog and his nose had been replaced with a leaky faucet. But there was no sense in making Shin-chan worry. Kazunari knew Midorima felt bad about leaving him to fend for himself in this state, but Shintarō did not have one of those jobs where he could take time off easily.

After he'd hung up with Shin-chan, Kazunari fell back into bed. Falling asleep was easy despite the time of day. He was thankful Shin-chan had had blackout curtains installed in their bedroom, a staple in every home whose inhabitants, like Shin-chan, sometimes worked nights.

The curtains were motorized which meant Kazunari didn't even have to get out of bed to close them. All he had to do was literally lift a finger. He pressed a button on the remote and in a matter of seconds the sun and the bright hustle and bustle of Tokyo Bay below were obscured from the floor to ceiling windows of the master bedroom. The room was plunged into near darkness.

Even this was not enough for Shin-chan who was persnickety about everything, but especially his beauty rest. Midorima kept a cashmere eyemask in the top drawer of his nightstand for when he needed to sleep during the day. Kazunari would on occasion borrow it for times when he felt like incorporating a blind fold into their couple time, but otherwise he didn't care for the feeling of anything wrapped around his face while he was trying to sleep.

The house phone rang sometime later and it was their doorman. There was a delivery for Midorima-san. When they'd gotten hitched the name used in reference to Kazunari had sounded strange to Kazunari's ears, but by now he'd gotten used to it.

Kazunari could've let the delivery man up, but he hadn't ordered anything today. He’d been asleep for most of the morning.

He opted to go downstairs. He might as well check the mail while he was down there. Kazunari shuffled out of bed, pulled on the nearest hoodie on top of his Todai university sweatshirt - - an oversized grey crewneck that belonged to Shin-chan and bore the ginkgo leaf logo. Ordinarily, Kazunari liked to sleep in his birthday suit, but he was feeling cold and shivery.

Kazunari wasn't particularly hungry, but he knew he had to eat something and he was grateful that Shin-chan had thought to order him lunch. The steaming hot bowl of miso soup and plain rice hit the spot.

Midorima called Kazunari again in the afternoon. If it was rare for Shin-chan to call in the morning, it was practically unheard of for Midorima to call him twice in one day from work.

“Kazunari.”

“Yes, Shin-chan?”

“I'll be bringing dinner tonight.”

By the time Midorima came home, Kazunari was wrapped in a blanket sitting on the couch streaming a foreign drama on his laptop. Shin-chan was weird about where they placed their televisions. There were more than enough TVs in the penthouse, just not in convenient places like the bedroom or their elegant living room.

Shintarō toed off his leather driving loafers, took off his autumn coat and set his alligator briefcase on the credenza in the genkan, before heading into the living quarters of the spacious apartment.

He carried with him a large brown paper bag with a receipt stapled at the top.

Kazunari smiled when he saw it. The bag was nondescript, but he knew it was from his favorite Korean restaurant. They'd ordered from there often enough that Kazunari recognized the packaging even without a conspicuous logo.

“Are you cold,” Shintarō asked when he noticed Kazunari had the blanket pulled over his head.

“A little,” Takao admitted. He’d been shivering all day.

Shintarō ran his fingers gently through Kazunari’s disheveled hair, before setting the paper bag on the coffee table in front of the hawkeye.

When Shintarō returned to the living room, he’d changed out of his suit and was wearing what for Midorima passed for casual wear -- wool trousers, a crisp button down shirt and a cashmere cardigan. To Kazunari’s delight, Midorima also brought with him a thick shawl which he draped over Kazunari’s shoulders like a cape.

Kazunari’s lips were chapped from breathing through his mouth and the top of his lip was damp. His nose had been running all day. Shintarō didn’t seem to care. He leaned in to press a quick kiss against Kazunari’s lips before taking a seat on the couch.

Shintarō picked up Kazunari's socked feet from where they lay on the cushion between them and placed them on his lap where he began massaging them, hoping to warm them up.

Kazunari opened the brown paper bag and smiled when he saw, among several takeout containers, a double order of kimchi. “Aww, Shin-chan,” Kazunari cooed. “You do love me!”

Shintarō pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be an idiot,” he told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompts, #5 Taking care of the other while sick and #27 keeping the other person warm.


	18. The Good Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao has dinner with Shin-chan's father.

**The Good Son**

"What do you mean, medical emergency?" Kazunari whisper-hissed into his mobile. He couldn't _believe_ his luck. It was crowded at the restaurant and he had to press a finger against his ear so he could hear his husband over the loud din.

"Exactly what it sounds like. I have an emergency of a _medical_ nature, "Shintarō responded. "I am a _doctor_ , after all."

For once, Kazunari was the one lacking patience. "You know what I mean, Shin-chan. It's just your dad's already _here_." So far, it was shaping up to be just the two of them for dinner. Kazunari could feel the barely visible, short hairs on the back of his neck sticking straight up. It was not a good omen. 

"What about your mother?" Kazunari asked, sounding desperate. For the first time in his life he actually wished Midorima's mother were here. At least she'd serve as a buffer. Sazuna was . . . hard to ignore. She'd suck the oxygen out of the room. At least it wouldn't be just the _two_ of them. "Any chance she can still make it?" The pitch in Kazunari's voice went up.

"She has food poisoning," Midorima said sounding alarmed. 

"Yeah, I know. But any chance she'll wanna come and have dinner with us, _anyway_?" Kazunari practically squeaked. 

"Are you insane?" Shintaro huffed. "You're not making any sense." 

"C'mon, Shin-chan. Throw me a bone here, I'm desperate." Kazunari ran a hand through his hair, feeling tempted to pull it. "What about your little sister?"

"It's a school night!" Shintarō said, sounding mildly scandalized. "If you don't want to have dinner with him, just the two of you. Then say so!"

"Right," Takao responded. Easier said than done. 

"Now stop tying up my time. I need to prepare for surgery." Click. The dial tone effectively ended any hopes Kazunari had of getting through this evening.

###

A waiter walked by and Shinzo pulled the man aside to inquire about their table. Kazunari sincerely hoped the up-scale restaurant had lost their reservation. He did not know why they were going through with the charade that they were a _normal_ family.

Just a couple of newly weds having dinner with one set of parents. Except the mother-in-law had dropped like a fly at the Ladies Luncheon fundraiser for the hospital earlier that day. Evidently the raw oyster bar had not been a hit. Kazunari had had a good chuckle picturing prim and put-together Sazuna in such a compromising position until he realized that it just left him, his husband, and his father-in-law that night for dinner. Then Shin-chan's patient decided to take a turn for the worse.

And then there were two.

"I see the way he looks at you," Shinzo said and Kazunari lifted his gaze in shock. "You look surprised. You think I don't notice, but I'm very perceptive."

"Sazuna and I were like that once. And then  -- " Shinzo had started to say, before stopping himself. "Well, that's really none of your business." 

Kazunari nodded. In that respect, he agreed with the man. It's not as if it was a big secret. Whatever transgressions Sazuna chose to pardon were between them. That didn't mean he had to like the guy. Kazunari had his own grievances with Midorima's father. He didn't need to take up Sazuna's as well. 

"I wasn't expecting a son-in-law." Shinzo sipped his whiskey. The alcohol seemed to loosen his lips. "What I mean is - - I wasn't expecting a son-in-law from _Shintarō_. Of course, I expect Shuzuko will marry in due time --" Shinzo chuckled. His eyes twinkled in the dim light of the restaurant. Kazunari could see why so many women found this man charming. The creases in the corners of his lips looked more pronounced as he smiled and for a minute Kazunari forgot where he was. For a moment, he pondered what it would be like to have a father-in-law who wasn't a total prick.

"Look at me," he said. "I'm rambling." He swirled his whisky in the glass. "And to _you_ of all people."

And just like that the spell was broken. 

* * *

**AN** : There aren't too many Takao and Shinzo scenes in this series. I thought I'd remedy that with a short ficlet. Thanks for reading my story. Please let me know your thoughts. 

 


	19. Taka-OW!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to Midorima for this early Valentine's Day present.

**Warnings** : M for sexy times, _obvs_.

* * *

**Taka-OW!**

Takao had been dating Shin-chan since high school. Secretly at first and then out in the open. He’d been engaged to the man for a handful of months now. At this point, he considered himself an expert in all things Midorima.

So when an unexpected, overnight snowfall in mid-February gave them both a snow day -- Shin-chan from the hospital and Takao from the sports publication where he worked -- the hawkeye knew exactly what Midorima needed. He knew exactly how he wanted to spend this unanticipated free time.

 _No, not wedding planning  - although maybe he'd scout potential venues later in the week._ His soon-to-be mother-in-law had been dropping anvil-sized hints lately that she wanted the nuptials to be held that Spring in the manicured gardens of Shintarō's childhood home. Therefore it was imperative that they find a suitable _alternative_ venue as soon as possible because nothing good could come of Sazuna taking over their wedding. 

Today, however, was not going to be that day. Because Takao knew how he wanted to spend today. _Alone_. In bed. With his fiancé. And the day before Valentine's Day no less. 

Takao nuzzled into Midorima, into the space where Midorima’s thigh met his torso. Takao breathed him in. Musky and laden with sex. Shintarō shivered as Kazunari ran his lips over heated, sensitive skin.

When Kazunari shifted to the other thigh intent on repeating the action, Midorima voiced his displeasure.

“ _Mnn_ ,” Midorima grunted and Takao couldn't help but chuckle. It was an impatient sound, it was an annoyed sound. It was a stop meandering about and get to the point sound.

Takao couldn't help but laugh. 

Shin-chan wasn't vocal in bed the way Kazunari was. Kazunari had no qualms about using his voice. Kazunari used words. _Actual words._ More often than not lusty, filthy words. And moans. Oftentimes he cried out. Kazunari could howl till the sun came up and think nothing of it as he poured milk over his cereal the following morning.  

Midorima was much quieter in his lovemaking, but that didn’t mean he was any less communicative. By now, Takao knew what every shudder, every tug of his hair and every hard-earned groan he pulled from the tsundere's lips meant. Midorima was just as expressive as Kazunari, he just chose to do so in a less outspoken manner.

Takao loved to take his time, he loved to tease, but there was only so much Midorima would put up with.

“Alright, Shin-chan,” Takao said biting his lip to suppress a smile. “I'll stop playing with my food now.” It was the only warning Midorima got before Takao took all of him in at once.

This time Midorima gasped. In shock, in pleasure. The sound went straight to Kazunari's groin. So much so that Takao had to reach down and give himself a squeeze to temper his excitement. 

Takao beamed with pride -- _well_ , beamed as much as he could given that he had a mouthful of Midorima. Making Shin-chan feel good, made Takao feel good.

Takao pulled off of Midorima to adjust himself. Shintarō grunted with impatience. “Relax, Shin-chan,” Takao said, patting Midorima’s bare thigh reassuringly before resuming activities.

Kazunari had seen enough AVs in his youth to know the difference between giving a blowie and using his throat. The latter always made Kazunari’s eyes water and Shin-chan was not really into it. For starters, Midorima worried about bruising Takao’s throat. Consequently, Midorima couldn't really get into it the way Kazunari was certain it was supposed to work. So Kazunari stayed at the top and used his hand where his mouth didn't reach.

By now, Midorima’s fingers were in Kazunari's hair. Midorima's fists were no longer balling up the bedsheets. Takao expected that part too. It always came when Shin-chan’s impressive self-control was whittled away to nothing, it always come moments before the dam broke.

Takao loved this part too. He loved when Midorima ran his fingers through his hair gently, a quiet caress. But he especially loved  _this_ , when Midorima's fingers weren't so gentle. When they pulled and tugged his hair and it was almost painful. When Midorima was so out of it, so engulfed in pleasure, he didn't have the neurons to focus on anything else.

It was no secret the hawkeye was obsessed with his fiancé's fingers. Long, elegant, thin, unbelievably strong. Unbelievably talented. When he was younger, Takao would catch himself staring at Shin-chan’s fingers holding a pencil, resting on his lips in thought, shooting a basketball.

He felt the familiar tell-tale signs of Midorima about to blow his top. Shintarō tried to push him away. Takao didn't budge. He liked it. He liked the taste. Not objectively. In all honesty, it was briny and somewhat bitter. He liked it because it was Shin-chan’s, because there was something very naughty in swallowing his lover’s stock. 

A familiar warmth flooded Kazunari’s mouth, coated the back of his throat. He didn't cough when it happened. He was experienced enough not to choke. To know what to expect and not be surprised by it. What Takao didn't count on was an unexpected tickle in his nose followed by the sudden involuntary sneeze.

He bit. Midorima howled.

“Taka- _OW_!”

* * *

**AN** : You're all going to have to take my word for it that Shin-chan’s um, _chin-chin_ survive this incident unscathed. Well, a little scathed, but not permanently. I just didn't know how else Takao would make such a rookie mistake. I have an odd sense of humor. I hope you found this as funny as I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from another (less family-friendly) round of tumblr prompts. # 5 blow & # 27 Rough, biting, scratch


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